Visions of Rain
by teacandles
Summary: How can you hang on when he doesn't even know you're there? Blaine finds out the true meaning of love when something happens to Kurt.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Figured I'd start posting this one here; hopefully the updates will still be quick, but there are no guarantees. It's yet another fill for a prompt on the glee_angst_meme (PM me if you'd like a link to the prompt). And hey, it's proof I can at least attempt to write Blaine as a decent guy. Enjoy.

* * *

Kurt wasn't answering his phone. It had happened before, (though Kurt was almost religious about making sure his phone was always on him) but this time felt different, like the bad taste left in one's mouth after a really long sleep. He knew it was late, but this just wasn't like Kurt. Blaine frowned at the recording of Kurt's sullen, almost bored voice as it told him through the tiny phone speakers that he wasn't available and to leave a message after the tone.

He listened to the quick chirp signaling the start of the recording for his message. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, lost for words. Something was wrong. Nothing felt quite right.

"Hey, Kurt. It's Blaine. If you get this, give me a call. Thanks," he spat out quickly before tapping the screen to end the call. He briefly entertained texting Kurt, but if he was ignoring calls, he might not have his phone around. It was a stupid idea; it was stupid to worry. Kurt was fine. The boy just wasn't answering his phone. Nothing to worry about. Blaine was getting upset over nothing. But the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach would not let him be.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Kurt had been acting weird while they were still at school, before the break. Not overly strange, just more subdued, more distant as the school year dwindled to a close. And maybe he hadn't looked as clean and crisp as he normally did every day, but he'd be back to himself the next day if he slipped.

He'd also seemed kind of distracted—spacing out during Warblers practices, grades steadily falling (though not enough to overly worry Burt or Carole); he even wandered away in the middle of conversations every now and again, sometimes singing to himself under his breath. It was a bit unnerving now that he thought about it.

He'd also stopped caring properly for Pavarotti, to the point that Blaine had taken the bird in secret before finals; he was sitting on his perch in Blaine's room right now in fact, tilting his head to the side in that cute little way that he always did. No one knew he had him, and Blaine wouldn't tell. He couldn't do that to Kurt. But the bird had been in pretty bad condition when he'd taken him: kind of rumpled, cage lining piled with chalky white excrement and discarded grey and yellow feathers, food dish nearly empty with only the shells of seeds coating the bottom, water cloudy and dotted with something Blaine couldn't identify.

It had been a pretty sad sight, but Blaine had shrugged it off. Kurt was busy; he was tired; he was probably having trouble adjusting to the new environment he'd been thrust into; and he probably didn't know a thing about caring for a bird (Blaine vaguely remembered Kurt saying that his dad had been adamantly opposed to pets, and hey, it helped him keep things clean around the house, so who was he to complain?). Kurt had only asked after Pavarotti once after he'd been taken, when he'd been unable to find the cage in his room, though there were sunny little feathers still scattered across his desk. It was odd because Kurt was normally such a tidy person. It wasn't like him at all. The whole thing was even more unsettling now that he thought about it.

But that had been it. Nothing big or really out of the ordinary, just little things. Kurt was still mostly Kurt. There wasn't anything to worry about. But he still hadn't answered his phone, and that something in Blaine's gut, in the back of his brain, wouldn't leave him alone.

He'd try Kurt at home. Yeah, he was probably home. Maybe he had left his phone where he couldn't get to it, or he had walked out of the room with it set to silent, or perhaps he was taking a shower or something. It wasn't anything to worry about. Kurt was fine. He'd just call the house phone and verify.

If nothing else, Burt or Carole or even Finn could tell him where Kurt was and maybe just what in the heck was going on, if anything at all.

He turned his phone over in his hands once, twice, before looking at the screen. He sighed and scrolled through his contacts. He knew Kurt's cell number by heart, but his home number still escaped him. He needed the help of his trusty contact log.

He thumbed through the names. David. Frank. Jeff. There. Kurt. He hit send and waited. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Fi-_Hello, you've reached Burt, Kurt, Carole and Finn. It looks like nobody's here right now, but if you leave your name and number at the beep_—Blaine cut the connection. No one at home, even at this time of night. That was bad. Something was up.

He got up, his bare feet brushing comfortably against the soft carpet of his room. It was nice to be home, to get out of uniform, enjoy the nice cool breeze of the summer night as it wafted in through his window. He opened up Pavarotti's cage and plucked the bird up in his cupped hands. He chirped and hopped and was generally being cute, even if Blaine had just woken him up. Thank goodness he'd thought to clip the his wings—Blaine couldn't have him flying out the open window, even if it was night and the bird was likely too tired to think of escape.

"You think something's wrong with Kurt too, don't you, buddy?" He stroked a thumb over the soft feathers of Pavarotti's head. The canary closed his eyes in contentment. Then it hit him—Finn. Finn had a cell phone.

He placed Pavarotti on his bed and fumbled with his phone. Finn, Finn, Finn; he was sure Kurt or his dad or somebody _somewhere _had given Finn's number to him. Yes! There. He hastily pounded the number and waited. One ring. Two.

"Yeah?" He sounded tired and shaky, but yes, it was Finn. He needed answers.

"Finn? It's me, Blaine. You know, Kurt's friend?" Stupid. Of course Finn knew who he was.

Finn sighed. He sounded beat. "Yeah? What's up?"

"Well, I-I was trying to get in touch with Kurt, but he's not answering his phone."

"Yeah, I know."

"Oh. Well, I was wondering if something was up. He's usually really good about answering his phone, and you guys weren't picking up at home. I was just curious to know if something was up and where he might be. I was, uh, kind of worried." God, he sounded stupid.

"Um, look, Blaine. Why don't you come meet us here? I can't really explain everything over the phone and I think it might make Burt feel a little better to see you here. He knows Kurt trusts you." He paused. Blaine could almost feel Finn running a hand through his hair in that way he seemed to do when he was nervous or anxious about something. "We're at St. Rita's. Kurt was just admitted. I'll tell you everything when you get here."


	2. Chapter 2

Admitted. _Admitted. __**Admitted**_. The word rang through Blaine's head as he sped toward the hospital. He didn't even bother to sing along to the soft music of the radio filling his car like he always did, he was so distracted. Kurt had been admitted. To St. Rita's. Finn hadn't told him any more than that, and the lack of information was ripping Blaine apart with worry.

What had happened to Kurt? Was he hurt? Did it have anything to do with his odd behavior lately? Blaine suddenly felt cold as he remembered the string of suicides among gay teens late last year. Had Kurt…? Had he tried? But Kurt wouldn't do something like that, would he? Blaine thought—no, he was _sure_ Kurt was stronger than that. And the bullying had stopped; Kurt was safe at Dalton now. Why would he do something like that? And why wouldn't he talk to Blaine about it first? Kurt knew that he was there for him and always would be, so why?

His mind buzzed with speculation, none of it all that good, and he felt sick. No, Kurt wasn't like that. He'd never do something like that. Not to his dad. Even if Kurt ever got that desperate, he'd never do anything to hurt his dad like that. Yeah. But that meant something else was wrong, and Blaine couldn't stop running the possibilities around and around in his head. The GPS informed him in its calm feminine voice that his exit was approaching. He'd get his answers soon. He tightened his grip on the wheel and pressed a little harder on the gas, watching the signs along the road whip past in blurs of yellow and white.

Walking into St. Rita's was like entering a beehive. There were people everywhere—a man hastily filling out paperwork while the pregnant woman beside him rubbed his shoulder in a comforting manner, her other hand resting lightly on her distended belly; an elderly woman getting wheeled behind the set of double automatic doors leading into the back while her tiny little husband followed behind the nurse pushing her wheelchair like a lost puppy; a man who must have stumbled in only minutes before Blaine (maybe that's whose car was double-parked outside the doors), supported by what looked like his brother, clutching a bleeding wound over his left eye; nurses wandering through various sets of doors—people kept streaming in and out of the groups and clusters lining the room, lost in their own worlds, burdened with their own problems, and it was somewhat overwhelming.

He looked around the waiting area and saw Finn standing near the wall beside a wilting plant, gaze fixed on something outside the large windows, though it was almost too dark to see anything outside, even with the bright lights of the hospital building and parking lot shining onto the pavement and lines of parked cars ringing the building.

Finn was alone and looked to be both immensely tired and worried. The bright yellow tag that declared him a visitor stuck out like a beacon on his chest; a little sunny spot on Finn's thin black jacket. Where were Burt and Carole? He'd assumed Kurt would be in the back somewhere, lost in the maze of rooms and patients, but Blaine was certain that at least one of the adults would have kept Finn company. In the end he supposed it didn't matter. They were probably with Kurt.

He strode over to the other boy, careful of the few people sprawled or hunched over in the light green chairs of the waiting room. Finn didn't notice his approach.

"Uh, hey." He waved his hand awkwardly at Finn, trying to catch his attention without drawing that of the other people in the room.

Finn looked up and saw Blaine's reflection in the over-large glass. Good. He was here. He turned and Blaine could see the tracks of exhaustion carved into his face. Finn was beat.

"Hey, man. Glad you could make it," he said with a sad imitation of a smile. He fell silent for a moment, eyes falling to his shoes. Ex-crush-turned-stepbrother and mentor-slash-sort-of-new-crush-but-also-kind-of-boyfriend. Standing together in the waiting room of a hospital with the link between them somewhere in the back. This was awkward. _Painfully_ awkward. Finn shuffled his feet, though Blaine couldn't tell if it was an attempt by Finn to keep himself awake or just something to break the terrible silence. "So, uh, I guess I should tell you what happened. They won't let anybody outside of family see Kurt just yet, and they're kind of keeping us in the dark too."

Blaine nodded and gestured to an empty space in the line of chairs propped against the wall. Finn slumped into the nearest one and Blaine sat beside him, body thrumming with nervous energy.

Finn sighed deeply and slouched down against the slightly flat cushioning of the chair. "So, uh, first I actually have a question for you."

Blaine went rigid. Did this have something to do with him? His mind shot back to his suicide theory from the drive over. _Oh god, had Kurt tried to kill himself because of him?_ A knife of pain shot through his chest as he waited for Finn to speak.

"Was Kurt acting weird, well, weirder than normal while you guys were at Dalton?"

That was unexpected. "Weird how? Like, not himself?"

Finn nodded.

"Um, well, he seemed really distracted the last couple of weeks of school, but not overly so, just kind of spacey. He was also a little messier than normal—just little stuff, like not folding his jacket or forgetting to comb his hair every now and again. But finals were coming up, so I thought he was just stressed about them, or devoting a lot of time to studying or something."

Blaine frowned and looked at his hands folded over his knees. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell this part, but it was Kurt, and it might be important. He drew in a deep breath. "He—well, we gave him a canary to take care of as the newest member of the Warblers." Finn shot him an incredulous look, not too sure about the whole bird situation. Kurt hadn't told him about a bird, not even during the breaks. "Yeah, it's a Dalton thing—well, a Warbler thing. A warbler for a Warbler. Sort of a tradition. They gave me one too when I joined, though I gave him to my sister as a gift when she left for college.

"Kurt seemed to like him, but I had to take Pavarotti—the bird—away from him. He wasn't really getting taken care of. I just thought Kurt might not know how to care for him, or he was too busy or something, but I guess that should have been a sign that something was wrong. I don't know. Kurt really seemed to like having Pavarotti around."

He turned to Finn, puzzled and nervous. "Do you think that has anything to do with this?"

Finn nodded, still silent. There was more to this than either boy wished to say. They didn't look at each other. Blaine desperately wanted answers but wasn't willing to push it, wasn't willing to push the other boy into anything. Not now. Not when he looked so defeated. Finn would tell him eventually. Things would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: There's an awkward transition in this part (well, I think it's awkward), but it's necessary. Sorry about that.

* * *

They watched the bustle of the hospital staff as they moved throughout the room, giving news and helping people as they went. Yeah, things would be okay. He just needed to be patient. They had time.

They sat there in companionable silence for what felt like an eternity, simply watching the comings and goings of the hospital around them. It was calming in a way—a distraction from the fact that Kurt was in the back somewhere and Blaine still had no idea what was going on, even though he'd been here for who knows how long.

"Kurt talks a lot about you, you know?"

"Huh?" It was somewhat jarring to hear Finn's voice again. "What?"

"Kurt. He talks about you. All the time. It's kind of funny, actually." Finn turned his head to face the boy beside him. There was a strange sort of grin on his face, too tired and sad to be comforting but closer than his earlier attempt. "I think he likes you."

Blood rushed to Blaine's cheeks and the room suddenly felt far too warm. He had been pretty sure that Kurt had been crushing on him (and Blaine had been crushing on him back, if he was honest with himself) but it felt different hearing it from someone else, like some kind of elicit affair. Finn was talking again. "He didn't say much to anybody at all, though—after coming home for the summer, I mean—but I didn't think much of it. We hadn't really talked in about a month—you know, with finals and all the stuff that piles up at the end of the school year—you know how it goes, but he had even gotten kind of lax on talking to his dad over the phone and stuff. I guess we just figured he was busy, and summer was just around the corner, so why make it an issue? Makes me feel pretty stupid that we didn't pick up on anything then. Maybe things wouldn't have gotten this bad if we had."

Blaine leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring hard at Finn when he quieted. The other boy remained silent for a short while, but Blaine was done being patient. He needed to know what was up with Kurt, why the heck he was sitting here with Finn waiting for news on him in St. Rita's Medical Center.

"Go on," Blaine encouraged him. When Finn didn't speak Blaine frowned a little in frustration. It was time to pull out the big guns. "You said you'd tell me what was going on when I got here. I've been sitting with you for," he glanced at the clock on the wall, "twenty-some minutes now, and all I know now that I only guessed at before is that Kurt thinks I'm cute. Cut the crap, Finn. What's going on? Why am I spending a Saturday night in the waiting room of a hospital that's almost two hour's drive away?"

Finn sighed deeply and looked up at the ceiling tiles. The one above him had a brownish stain in the shape of a hat.

"I guess I should start when Kurt came home for the summer."

* * *

Kurt was home when Finn pulled into the driveway, if the black Navigator parked beside the sidewalk outside the house was any indication.

Strange; he usually called or texted when he was on his way home. Odd. Maybe his phone was discharged or he'd only told his dad he was on his way home. That was fine. It happened every now and again. Finn shrugged and made his way up the walk, backpack slung over one shoulder. He swung his keys around his finger. The tinkling sound they made filled the air. Dalton got out before McKinley (lucky bastards) but he only had, like three days left. No biggie. And Kurt would be home, which was a plus. He'd kind of missed him the past couple of weeks.

He whistled a little to himself as he approached the door and turned the handle. Huh. Locked. He frowned. Why the hell would Kurt lock the door if he was home? He shrugged. Whatever. Maybe he was asleep or showering or something. It _was_ Kurt after all. Finn flipped through the keys on his ring, quickly locating his house key and unlocking the door.

The smell of cookies hit his nose. He could hear pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. The hell?

"Kurt?" No response. "Kurt, is that you?"

He plopped his backpack down beside the door in a heap and pocketed his keys. "Kurt, if that's you, man, this really isn't funny." More clattering from the kitchen.

He carefully made his way over to the kitchen, fully aware of the shuffling his shoed feet made on the carpet. He didn't have any weapons on him if it was some sort of psycho, but he was pretty strong. Well, at least he thought he was. He wasn't a football player for nothing. The thought still didn't help to quell the furious beating of his heart as he peered around the corner into the kitchen. Oh god, what if he'd already gotten to Kurt? What if he was holding him hostage or something? Finn really wished he had a bat or something right now.

But it was only Kurt in the kitchen when he rounded the corner, crouched low to the floor on his knees, head stuck inside one of the cabinets near the stove. Pots and pans were scattered everywhere—on the table, the floor, the counter. The cookie smell was even stronger here. Finn looked around. There was a bowl of what looked like dough sitting against the sink. Huh.

"Kurt?"

Kurt jumped a little, his head thumping lightly against the inside of the cabinet. Finn swore he could hear a muffled curse before the other boy peeked his head out. "Finn? That you?" He squinted at Finn a little, rubbing the back of his head.

"Uh, yeah. Wasn't expecting to see you home. You didn't let us know or anything."

"I didn't?" He stood up and grabbed for his phone, which he'd left sitting on the counter above him. He scrolled through his messages and call history. "Crap, I guess I forgot. Give me a second to text dad and let him know I'm back."

Finn nodded and looked around while Kurt's fingers tapped over the keys of his phone. He didn't think he'd ever seen the place so messy, so chaotic. He wondered briefly what Kurt was doing.

"So you're home early." Kurt was smiling at him and leaning back, completely at ease. He was still sort of in his Dalton uniform, though the tie and jacket were missing. The white sleeves of his school shirt were rolled up just above his elbows, and there was a light dusting of flour on the tops of his thighs, white against the dark grey of his pleated pants.

"Uh, yeah. I don't have a seventh period class on Tuesdays." He looked uncomfortably around the room. "Um, no offense, dude, but what the heck are you doing?"

Kurt looked confused for a moment before glancing around the room. His eyes widened, almost as if he were seeing the mess for the first time. "Oh wow, I didn't realize I'd gotten this far. I was um, I was organizing the pots and things because I had some trouble finding what I needed earlier. Guess I got a little carried away."

He frowned a little at the mess, straightening and placing his phone on the counter before brightening with a sudden revelation. "Oh, and there'll be cookies soon. They're chocolate chip—dad's favorite. Classic and simple, kind of like a black dress and pearls. I figured you and Carole might like some as well. They were going to be a surprise, but, well, seeing as you're home earlier than expected, I guess that's out. Um, so, surprise!" he said with a smile with a little wave of his fingers, and Finn couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, thanks, dude. That's really cool of you." He looked around the floor at the assorted cookery. "Hey, listen, if you need some help with this, I can, uh, sort stuff. I guess."

Kurt waved him off. "No, that's perfectly fine. I'll get this. If I need help, I'll give you a shout. How's that sound?"

Finn's smile widened. "Awesome." He started back to the front door to retrieve his bag, but looked back before he turned the corner. "Oh, and Kurt?"

Kurt was already back on the floor, this time placing small pots into larger ones, kind of like those little dolls Finn's grandma loved and had littered throughout her house. Kurt looked up at him, not bothering to stand. "Yes?"

"Welcome home."


	4. Chapter 4

Things had been pretty normal throughout the rest of the week. Kurt had settled back in at home and was helping Burt out in the garage during the day while Carole worked and Finn suffered through the never-ending dredge that was the last few days of the school year. They all sat and ate dinner together as a family in the evening—made by Kurt and Carole, who gossiped together in the kitchen while they baked and stirred and whipped and made strange but delicious creations (Kurt's recipes, most likely). And after dinner, they would watch TV and fight over the remote and talk about work and glee and school and all the things that families do. It was nice to have everybody home. Everything was normal. Everything was happy. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

Until Friday.

Kurt had opted-out of going to the garage that day. Said he was feeling a little tired and then proceeded to hole himself up in the basement. Burt had looked a little worried, but let it go. Kurt was probably just being moody again, or maybe he was coming down with something. Kurt rarely got sick, but when he did, it could get pretty bad. Or maybe he really was tired or just didn't want to work that day. It didn't matter. Kurt had been a big help at the shop the past couple of days. He deserved a break.

Finn had left the school as quickly as he could (he'd even gone so far as to empty his locker out early so he could just grab his backpack and hit the parking lot the second the last bell sounded), but he still ended up caught in the never-ending line of cars trying to escape the prison of school. Stupid other kids trying to get home, messing up his plans. Oh well, might as well enjoy his time in the car if he was going to be here for a while. He turned up the volume on his stereo, letting the beats pulsing from the speakers wash over him.

Ah, summer. It was finally summer. Time for goofing-off with Puck (even if he was still kind of ticked at him) and making out with Rachel and teasing Kurt like good brothers are supposed to. Yeah, life was pretty sweet.

He air-drummed a bit on the steering wheel to the music, the cars around him still and rumbling with anxious teens eager to get as far away from the school as possible. He was so distracted, he almost missed the familiar tones of his cell phone jingling from the seat.

Yeah, so it wasn't exactly manly to have "Single Ladies" as a ring tone, but after Kurt's stint on the football team, the tune had kind of been Finn's song for Kurt. It's not like it was his main ring tone or anything. Kurt just needed something special, something that stood out. That's all. And Finn hadn't really bothered to change it, even after getting to know Kurt better. But why was he calling him? He looked at the cracked face of the clock in his dash. Three forty-two. He was late. Maybe Kurt was wondering where he was. He looked at the line of cars in front of him. Not going to be going much of anywhere for a while. Better answer, let him know he was okay and would be home whenever the idiots at the front of the line decided to finally move.

He turned down the music and picked up his phone, answering the call. "Hey, Kurt. What's up?"

There wasn't an immediate response. "Kurt? Kurt, you okay?" His mind shot back to the kitchen a few days ago. Kurt had been acting weird then, but he was fine now. Well, at least Finn thought he was fine now. Nothing else strange had happened since that he was aware of. "Kurt?"

Kurt's voice was barely above a whisper, kind of raspy and strained. He sounded almost like he'd been crying. "Finn? Finn, are you there?"

Probably a bad connection. That's why Kurt hadn't answered right away. The school had never really had good cell reception. "Yeah, man. Sorry I'm kind of late; people don't know how to drive around here, and I'm stuck behind the slowest guy in the world. What's up? Are you okay? You sound kind of funny."

"I have to be quiet. I think…I think someone's in the house."

Finn's heart leapt into his throat. Oh god, someone had broken in. He thought about the threatening phone calls that hit the house every so often, all aimed at Kurt. Burt had said something about them when he and his mom had first moved in, and they hadn't stopped after Kurt left for Dalton, just more infrequent. What if they were finally making good on their threats?

"Dude, call the police!"

"_Shh! Be quiet!_"Kurt rasped. "They're going to _find me_." There was a desperate edge to Kurt's voice that scared Finn more than the fact that someone might have broken in. Kurt was silent for a moment and Finn could feel his heart start to race. Someone was in the house. Kurt might be in real trouble, and he didn't want the police involved.

"Kurt, man, if someone's there, you need to call the police. You could be in real trouble, dude, and I don't want you getting hurt," he said, much quieter this time.

"I _can't_," Kurt moaned. "They're going to find me."

"Find you? Who's going to find you? What's going on? I-Do you need me to call the police?"

"_No! _No, I-" he breathed into the phone, suddenly falling silent. Finn could hear him breathing into the speakers. "Could you call my dad? I think—I think he could help."

"Okay, dude. Just, just stay there. I'm going to be there as soon as I can, okay?"

Kurt didn't respond.

"Kurt?"

Finn pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. The call had ended, the time marking the duration of the call blinking merrily at him in light blue. Shit. Kurt was in trouble. He quickly dialed the garage. Burt would know what to do.

"Hummel Tire and Lube. This is Alex. How can I help you?"

Alex. Okay. Not who he wanted, but at least he wouldn't try to jerk Finn around like some of the other guys would. "Hey, Alex, this is Finn. Uh, Burt's stepson. I need to talk to him—it's kind of urgent. Can you get him for me?"

"Sure thing, kid. Just hang on a second." Finn could hear the man shouting for Burt and the muffled sounds of the garage at work. What he wouldn't give to be there right now. Even if Finn knew next to nothing about cars, it was so much closer to home and Burt was there—he'd know what to do. He always seemed to know what to do.

"Finn? Alex said you needed to talk to me. What's up?" Finn had never been so glad to hear the other man's voice in his life.

"Yeah, um, I just got a call from Kurt at home. He thinks someone might have broken in, and I'm stuck here in the parking lot at school."

"Has anyone called the police?" Burt's voice was rushed; he was starting to panic. _Someone had broken in? Oh god, was Kurt okay? Was he in trouble?_

"No, he didn't want me to. He wasn't really clear about anything. I mean, he sounded pretty freaked, and he didn't really give me much information. Can you go check on him? Like I told you, I'm kind of stuck at the school and the garage is pretty close. Traffic getting out of the parking lot is really bad today—last day of school and all—and Kurt didn't want me calling the police."

"Okay. Okay. Thanks Finn. I'll give you a call when I know what the heck is going on." And the call was ended. Finn swore and gripped his phone tightly in his fist. So much for a relaxing afternoon.

There was an inordinate amount of honking coming from behind him. He looked up. The cars ahead of him had started to move. There was an open expanse of road between him and the next car. He stomped his foot on the gas and jumped forward. He needed to get home. Summer vacation wasn't looking so bright anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Burt didn't think he'd ever driven so fast in his life. Kurt was in trouble. Someone was in the house, and Kurt didn't want the police involved. He couldn't hear anything over the mad rush of his beating heart. He couldn't lose Kurt. That's why he and Carole had sent him to Dalton—because it wasn't safe for him at McKinley anymore. What could he do if that danger suddenly moved into his home?

He saw the Navigator still parked outside the house. It looked fine, undamaged. Maybe it was just a robbery, a simple break-in-grab-the-silverware-get-out kind of thing. Or maybe Kurt had misheard—maybe it was nothing. _Or maybe they were specifically targeting Kurt, waiting for him to be left alone in the house_. He swerved up to the curb and flung himself out of the car.

The house looked untouched from the outside, but that didn't mean anything. They could have gotten in through the back, through a window, through the screen door. He was cautious as he approached the door. Locked. Good. Kurt was thinking properly on that front; that meant that whomever might be inside didn't just walk in. He dug out his keys and hastily opened the door, no longer caring about being quiet. Kurt was in there. He needed to help him. Nothing else mattered at that point.

He opened the door and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. He carefully stepped inside and moved toward the kitchen. The screen door was still shut, undisturbed. The glass was intact there and on all of the windows. No signs of forced entry.

The oven was on, the little red light signaling that it had reached preheated levels glared brightly from its place atop the stove in the empty stillness of the kitchen, like a dot of blood on a sheet of white linen. He opened up the oven door. Nothing inside. Odd. Had Kurt been trying to cook something when he thought someone had broken in? Maybe Kurt was overreacting. _Maybe he'd been taken. _He shut the oven door and switched it off. Better safe than sorry. He needed to find Kurt.

He went around the entire circumference of the downstairs and found nothing. Everything was the same as it had been when he'd left for work that morning: Carole's coat still hung on the banister, Finn's shoes were still laying in the middle of the living room floor, the spare keys were still in the bowl atop the mantle. No sign of a break-in. He just couldn't find Kurt.

"Kurt?" he called. There was nothing. The house remained as still and silent as when he'd first entered.

He made his way down into the basement. The boys had assured him and Carole that they could share a room, that it would be okay this time around now that there weren't any misunderstandings. They were bigger than that, they'd insisted. Besides, it would take a lot of effort and ingenuity to clear out and redo one of the other rooms as a bedroom unless Finn decided to take over the guest room, which he adamantly refused to do. Burt had been highly hesitant—the last thing he wanted was a repeat of last year—but had relented after reassurances from Carole and the boys that they could handle it, they were mature enough for this.

And of course there had been little disputes here and there (Kurt had been really upset when he'd come home for Winter Break to find the walls painted green; he'd refused to sleep down there for several days, instead choosing to camp out on the couch in protest before finally relenting after Carole had promised to take him shopping the following weekend), but for the most part, the boys had been civil, friendly, maybe even a bit brotherly. He supposed it helped that they weren't around each other twenty-four seven like before, but it was still comforting to see them getting along so well.

He peered around the corner into the room, expecting to see Kurt somewhere. He was right—the green walls were kind of ugly. "Kurt, are you down here?" Nothing. He opened up the closets, but didn't find him there either. Where the heck was he? Maybe upstairs.

Burt was fully convinced by now that there was no intruder, but the lack of Kurt's presence was highly unsettling. Had someone taken Kurt? Taken him and locked the door behind them as some sort of sick joke? "Kurt? Son, where are you?" He headed up the stairs toward the master bedroom. Check there first, then the bathroom, and if he wasn't in there, then Burt was calling the police. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest, the rush of blood loud and fast in his ears. He slid back the door to the closet.

"Kurt?"

Kurt was huddled inside, lodged between Burt and Carole's shoes and a box of Burt's previous wife's old things that he'd never had the heart to throw out, pressed flat against the closet wall. Kurt was shaking like a leaf, curled up and terrified, his phone clutched tight in one white fist. Burt's heart broke a little at the sight. He knelt down, crouching low to Kurt's level. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Kurt so frightened, so defenseless.

"Kurt? Son, are you okay?"

Kurt turned bloodshot eyes to him. "Dad?"

"Yeah, bud. It's me. There's no one in the house. You're okay."

Kurt flung himself into his dad's embrace, still shaking madly. Burt wrapped his arms around his son, but was afraid of holding him too tightly; he felt so very fragile, so very small, under his hands.

"I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry. I just thought…I heard someone moving, someone talking, and I thought—oh god, I was so scared." Kurt was still trembling, but there were no tears. Burt rocked back and forth a little, still trying to calm himself down. Kurt was here. No one had broken in. Kurt was safe. Nothing else mattered.

"You're okay. You're okay," he whispered softly into his son's hair. "Everything's going to be okay."


	6. Chapter 6

Finn didn't remember the drive home after turning out of the school parking lot. He might have cut a few people off and run a stop sign or two, but Kurt might be in trouble. Not Kurt's normal do-these-jeans-make-my-butt-look-big trouble, but, like, psycho-murderer-in-the-house kind of trouble. And that freaked him out. A lot.

He didn't think he'd ever been more relieved to see Burt's truck in the driveway. That at least meant Kurt wasn't alone. And there weren't any police cars—probably a good sign. He knew Kurt didn't want the police involved, but Burt would have called them if something was up. That didn't do much to quell the furious beating of his heart.

Finn dashed into the house, leaving his backpack slumped over in the backseat, almost forgetting to remove his keys from the ignition. Adrenaline was still pumping heavy through his veins. The front door was unlocked, and he wasn't really sure if that was a good sign or not. There weren't any unusual footprints or stains on the carpet as he entered. Okay. The house was quiet, still, the silence so pervasive he could hear the ticking of the clock in the hall echoing loudly against the plaster walls.

He made his way over to the living room and deflated, finally able to breathe again, when he found Burt and Kurt sitting together on the couch. Neither one looked like any harm had come to them. They looked okay, and the house looked just as it had when he'd left that morning, nothing amiss or broken. Maybe this was all some big misunderstanding—the thought was strangely comforting. Even if this fiasco was a cause for panic, the idea that nothing happened was such a huge relief that he couldn't find himself angry. Kurt _looked_ okay—a bit shaken, maybe (who wouldn't be?) but intact.

He quietly approached the couch, coming around the corner slowly so as not to intrude on the pair. He didn't want to freak them out with his sudden appearance. Kurt was pressed up against his dad like a little kid who'd wandered into his parents' bedroom after a nightmare. Finn couldn't see his face, but he seemed smaller than usual, curled up against his dad's side. Burt was looking straight ahead, eyes focused on some spot on the wall. His hand rested gently on Kurt's hair, fingers threaded through chestnut bangs.

"Hey," said Finn softly, raising his hand a little in a wave to catch the man's attention as he rounded the edge of the couch.

Burt looked up. He looked exhausted—the lines of his face somehow deepened, the curve of his jaw tightened—but relieved. Having Kurt safe and sound probably helped a lot on that front. "Hey," he replied.

Finn gingerly sat down in the loveseat next to the couch. The dark canvas covering dipped with his weight and sighed softly beneath him. "He okay?" He gestured at Kurt, who looked to be fast asleep, leaning heavily on Burt's stocky frame.

"Yeah." Burt looked at Kurt's sleeping form. One of his socked feet was curled up beneath him and the other dangled free over the edge of the couch, brushing the carpet. His shirt was a little rumpled and his hair was askew from being pressed up against the wall and his father's chest for so long. Kurt would throw a fit when he woke up and saw the state he was in. His face was relaxed in sleep, his mouth slightly open, his breath heavy and warm against Burt's shoulder, but god, he was here, he was okay, and that was what mattered. "Yeah, he's okay." He turned to look at Finn. "You really freaked me out, you know that?" he said with a tired grin, "Callin' me up at work to tell me someone might have broken into the house. Nearly gave me another heart attack."

Finn ducked his head a little in embarrassment. "Sorry about that. I kind of felt the same way, though. I mean, when Kurt called me." He looked over at Kurt, who hadn't moved, still fast asleep. "He sounded really freaked; said he thought that whoever had gotten in the house was gonna find him or something. I dunno. It was pretty terrifying, especially since I was stuck at the school. I couldn't help him and he didn't want me to call the police. It was kind of freaky. I've never heard him like that."

Burt nodded and pulled Kurt a little closer. The boy didn't stir. He really didn't want to deal with this right now. He sighed and turned back to Finn, a little smile painted on his lips. Better to just forget and move on. Nothing happened. Everything was fine. "How's takeout sound tonight? Kurt probably won't be happy about it, but I don't think he's in any shape to be cooking right now. He was really pretty beat when I got him to calm down. I already called Carole and she seemed fine with it if you were."

"Sure." Finn looked back at Kurt and a wicked smile cut across his face. "Kurt's gonna complain about how he'll never get rid of his pear hips if we eat like that, though."

"Pear hips?"

Finn shook his head. "Don't ask."

* * *

Finn had been absolutely right: Kurt hadn't exactly been happy when he'd found out they were having takeout that night. He'd fretted over his figure and his father's health for nearly an hour after Carole got home before finally relenting and ordering some supposedly vegetarian dish that Finn refused to touch.

"Are you really going to eat that, Kurt?" Finn prodded at the lumpy greenish mess with his chopsticks. "_Gross_, dude. You know, you can always have some of my chow mein. It's good and crispy tonight."

Kurt grimaced and pulled his plate closer to his body, away from Finn's wandering utensils. "No, Finn. Do you know how long it would take me to work that off? How long it's going to take me to work even this off?" He gestured at the dish in front of him. "_Some_ of us may have be lucky and have a high metabolism, but others must _work_ for their figures." He picked up a droopy pea pod in his own chopsticks and gingerly bit off the end, crunching lightly as he chewed.

"Whatever, Kurt. Suit yourself. Just don't expect me to eat any of your…" he inspected Kurt's dish, eyes narrowed in intense scrutiny, "whatever that is."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to, Finn. You have the culinary abilities of a sea cucumber and your impressive palette encompasses little other than a few of the various forms beef and potatoes can take on." He turned away from Finn, food still clutched tight to his chest, and stuck out his tongue.

Carole chuckled at the sight. Finn looked at her, chopsticks still raised. "What is it? What's so funny?"

She smiled and leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. "You two. You're just like little kids sometimes."

"Am not!" Finn protested, even as he shoveled food into his mouth.

"Please, do not compare me to him. I am like a fine piece of art. He, on the other hand, is akin to a puppy that continually runs into walls—cute, perhaps, the first couple of times, but otherwise just kind of irritating and sad."

Finn scowled at him, mumbling incoherently behind a wad of food caught in his mouth. "Now Kurt, Finn, play nice," Burt scolded, though he smiled at the boys, his sons. It was nice they could be so relaxed after a scare like today. He'd never been so relieved at a false alarm in his life.

Finn hunched over his food, shooting a poisonous glare in Kurt's direction. "He started it."

But Kurt wasn't paying any attention. He was looking out the screen door at something. Finn frowned. "Kurt? You okay?"

He jumped a little. "What?"

Carole was growing concerned, her face turned down in a frown. It wasn't like Kurt to wander away in the middle of a conversation like that. "Kurt, are you feeling okay?"

He was still staring at the glass. "Yeah. Yeah, I just—do any of you hear that?"

Burt and Carole looked at one another in confusion. Finn was completely lost. He turned his eyes toward the screen door, trying to see what Kurt was seeing. He couldn't hear a thing. "Hear what, dude? There's nothing out there."

Kurt shook his head and turned back to his green mush. "Never mind. Must have been my imagination. Hey dad, is that Mustang still in the shop? The one with the tacky yellow paint job? I'd like to take a look at it tomorrow if that's okay with you. Jeff's a great guy, but he didn't seem to know what he was doing with it when I was there yesterday."

"Yeah, sure thing, Kurt. I have to go in tomorrow anyway since I took off early today. You can come along with me in the morning."

"Thanks."

"You sure you're okay, Kurt?"

"Never been better. Just thought I'd heard something outside. Probably the Carters' dog again."

Finn was still a little worried, but let it go. Kurt would let them know if something was wrong, and Burt didn't seem all that concerned.

"Sure thing, son. I'll have to talk to them sometime about keeping that mutt on a leash."


	7. Chapter 7

"Dude, you okay?"

Finn was kind of worried. Kurt wasn't one to sleep in, even on the weekends, so when Finn woke up and found the other boy still asleep past ten o'clock, he knew something was wrong. Even worse now that he was awake was the way Kurt kept glancing over in his direction, like a wild animal that had been backed against a wall, trapped. Even though he'd slept more than two hours later than he normally did, Kurt had huge bags under his eyes and his uncharacteristically hunched posture and wild expression gave him the appearance of a rabid dog. That combined with the fact that Kurt had refused to move from his bed until Finn left made him extremely uneasy.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"You're watching me, Finn! And it's freaking me out. Why the hell are you even here, anyway?"

"Uh, I live here?" He felt his face heat with sudden anger. What the heck was Kurt's problem today? "This is my room too, you know."

Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, I hadn't noticed. So it was you who decided that we should be surrounded by puce and oversized pictures of scantily clad women night and day? I'd never have guessed. Fantastic."

"I don't even know what all of that means, but I'm sure it's not a compliment. And I'm not watching you."

"Yes, you were. I saw you."

Finn sighed heavily and pushed himself out of bed. He couldn't deal with this right now. It was the freakin' first Saturday of summer break, and Kurt just had to start the day off by being a bitch. "Whatever, man. I really don't want to argue with you right now. I'm gonna go get my shower." He stood to leave, but a thought occurred to him and he turned back. "Hey, weren't you supposed to go with your dad to the garage today? Some car you wanted to work on that you didn't trust Jeff with?"

Kurt's eyes widened and his head snapped to the left. He stared for a split second at the large red digits of Finn's alarm clock before flying from his bed in a flurry of sheets. He pushed past Finn to get upstairs, muttering curses under his breath as he went, slamming the door shut behind him. Finn was left standing in the empty bedroom, toes curled into the white carpet. What the heck had just happened?

Kurt was kind of a freak on the best of days, but this was kind of excessive. Yeah, so he might have had a near-death scare yesterday. That didn't mean he had to be a snot about…whatever the heck was bothering him today. Finn snorted and stepped over to his closet to find a clean pair of jeans. Whatever. If Kurt wanted to be irritating, he could do it somewhere else. Finn had better things to do.

* * *

Finn didn't see Kurt again until that evening. He'd spent the whole day with Rachel and her dads (they were surprisingly good company, though one of them kept giving him the evil eye for being so comfortable with his little girl), but Finn was ready for a nice, relaxing night at home. Maybe he could cajole his mom into channel-surfing with him. They hadn't done that in forever. And he did feel a little bad about this morning, though he hadn't started anything. Maybe he really _had _ been irritating, and Kurt had just been calling him out on it. Or maybe Kurt was just being touchy and needed to chill. Whatever. It still didn't change the fact that he felt bad, so maybe an apology and a weepy chick flick were in order. Kurt would like that. It wasn't as if they had anything better to do tonight.

He kicked off his shoes the second he walked into the house, leaving them sprawled in the middle of the floor. His sneakers were comfortable, sure, but he'd been on his feet all day, and he knew how Kurt could get about him leaving his shoes on and tracking dirt all over the carpet. He really wasn't in the mood to argue with him about something like that. He made a beeline for the fridge and was pleased to see his mom sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper with what looked and smelled like a fresh cup of coffee in her hand.

"Hey, mom," he said as he passed. She looked up at him with a little smile and then turned back to the newspaper. He opened the fridge door and studied the contents carefully, not really pleased with what he saw. Maybe some bread. He shut the door and made his way over to the pantry, digging out the slightly lumpy bad of bread. Two slices. One sandwich. Done deal.

As he slathered peanut butter onto one slice, he looked up at his mom. She was still reading intently, focused on the tiny print of the newspaper in front of her. "Hey, mom, have you seen Kurt? I saw the Navigator outside, so I assumed he was home. I need to talk to him about something."

She turned her head to meet his eyes, placing her paper fully on the table. "Yeah, he's actually downstairs. But be careful; he's in one hell of a mood."

So he was still pissed about this morning. Great. "Anything happen?"

"Nothing he would tell me about. Just came home around two this afternoon looking really agitated about something and disappeared into the basement. He's been down there ever since."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No. He just came in and made straight for the basement door. He looked pretty upset, but I didn't think he'd appreciate me questioning him. He doesn't usually like it when I pry." She set the newspaper on the table and looked up at him. "Why? Did something happen this morning?"

Finn wasn't quite sure what to say. "Uh, sort of, I guess, but not really. He got up late, like _way_ later than usual, and we sort of argued, but I dunno. He just seemed kind of off this morning." He looked toward the basement door. "Maybe he's calmed down a bit. I'll go check on him."

He grabbed his sandwich and made for the basement door. He took the stairs slowly, one at a time—he wasn't really sure he wanted to talk to Kurt just yet, but there was something in the back of his mind that just wouldn't let it be. He thought back to when Kurt first came home from Dalton for the summer and how he'd torn apart the kitchen trying to organize it. Come to think about it, Kurt's words this morning were pretty weird too.

_You're watching me, Finn!_

_Why the hell are you even here?_

The basement was quiet as he entered. Odd. Kurt usually liked to have music playing when he was alone. Maybe he had his earphones in or something. Finn swallowed hard. The sound of scissors cutting paper could heard from around the corner. "Kurt?"

Kurt was sitting cross-legged on his bed, furiously cutting apart what looked like a magazine from atop his comforter. His iPod was sitting on the nightstand beside his bed, screen dark and untouched. No music, then. "Kurt?"

Kurt startled, nearly cutting off his finger in the process. He looked up at Finn and smiled, though the effect was far from comforting. Finn suddenly didn't want his sandwich anymore.

"Finn. You're back. How was your day?"

"Uh, fine. I guess. What are you doing?" He gestured vaguely at the decimated magazine and the scraps of paper littering the floor.

"What, this? It's nothing. Just housekeeping." He turned back to his task, scissors flying.

Finn cautiously stepped forward and peered at the tiny pieces of paper scattered across the carpet. These looked familiar to him somehow. He glanced back over to Kurt, who was diligently cutting out a neat rectangle from the middle of the page. Finn couldn't see the cover from where he was standing and so turned his attention back to the pieces on the floor. What the heck? He picked up one of the scraps of paper and inspected it in his fingers. It was someone—some model's—eyes. He let it flutter back to the floor and peered closer at the pieces near his feet. They were all eyes! He looked back over to Kurt, who was now flipping through the pages, inspecting his handiwork. Wait a minute…Finn squinted and looked hard at the cover.

"Dude! Isn't that, like, your favorite Vogue or whatever?'

Kurt didn't look at him, just kept flipping through the pages. "Yes, Finn. It is. And now it's perfect."

Finn couldn't contain his bewilderment. "What do you mean, perfect?"

"Can't you see? Now they can't watch me anymore. They can't steal my secrets."

Okay. Now Finn was starting to freak out. That was definitely _not_ normal. "Are you all right, Kurt?"

Kurt slapped the magazine down flat on his bed. "I'm fine! Everyone keeps asking me that. Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because you're freaking me out! You're not acting like yourself. You've been all funny ever since you came home from school. What the heck happened to you at Dalton? Did someone hurt you? What? Talk to me, man."

Kurt's blue eyes bore into him and Finn backed up a step. He could see a flash of steel from the scissors still clenched in Kurt's fist.

"Were you with Rachel today, Finn?"

"What?" That was completely out of left field.

"I said, were you with Rachel?" His voice was low, quiet, calm. It scared Finn down to his core.

"Y-yeah. Why?"

Kurt bowed a little and got to his feet. Finn took another step back.

Kurt began pacing the floor in front of his bed, the little cut-out eyes fluttering across the carpet with each step. He was muttering something to himself.

"Look, dude. I'm…I'm gonna go upstairs. I'll just-I'll wait for you to calm down and we can talk later, okay?" he said as calmly as he could, backing towards the stairs as he spoke.

Kurt suddenly stopped and looked at him. "I can't let you do that, Finn."

"What?"

"I can't let you do that. I see now that it's all your fault. You've seen too much. You're giving away all of my secrets to Rachel. That's why you saw her today, isn't it? To sabotage me? Yeah, and I bet you've been talking to them, haven't you? That's why they tried to get me yesterday. Well, I can't let that happen. Not again."

"What? Who are you talking about? Y-you're not making any sense. You're scaring me, Kurt." Finn was almost at the stairs now. If he could just get to them, then he could get his mom and everything would be okay again. Kurt was getting closer.

"I can't let you leave, Finn. They'll come back if I do."

His heel hit the first step and he took off at a run. His sandwich fell from his fingers to the carpet, forgotten in his haste. Finn could hardly hear anything over the mad beating of his heart. _Oh god, oh god, Kurt was trying to kill him_. He dashed up the stairs, his socked feet slipping on the carpeted steps. _Oh god, oh god, oh god._ Kurt was screaming and everything was wrong, and oh god, _oh god, __**oh god**_.


	8. Chapter 8

"Wait. Kurt tried to kill you?" That was a tough image to wrap his mind around.

Finn nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I got to the top of the stairs before he could reach me, though." He chuckled a little, the sound oddly morbid coming after a statement like that. "He's a lot stronger than he looks, you know. You should see the holes he left in the door. I have to fix those later—mom said Burt probably wouldn't be up to it; not that I blame him, of course." He fell silent again, not looking at Blaine. His eyes were focused on the double automatic doors leading to the back.

"My mom had to call the cops to help us out. I don't think I've ever seen so many all in one place before. It was pretty terrifying, but we didn't know what else to do. He was quiet when they got there, and we had some trouble finding him—he'd hidden in his closet. He was crying and whispering something about someone finding him and taking him away or something. I don't know. We were just scared he'd try and come at somebody again with the scissors or, god forbid, use them on himself, but he didn't seem to have them anymore. I have to go look for those too once we get home. The officers had to restrain him and he started screaming again when anybody touched him."

Blaine was quiet, not really sure of what to say. He wondered absently where Burt and Carole were.

"So why am I here, Finn?" he said with a sigh. "You could have told me all this over the phone."

"No offense, dude, but I don't really know you at all. Would you have honestly believed me if I'd told you Kurt had a melt-down and came at me with a pair of scissors?"

Blaine considered this for a moment. His gaze tracked over to rest on the menacing double doors to the back. "Good point. I'd have thought you were just trying to mess with me because you're his stepbrother now. You know, the whole 'stay away, I have a gun' sort of thing, except more 'look closer at the boy you want to date because he's kind of crazy and might just kill you in your sleep.' It's kind of funny actually, because that card was played on me back when I was still in denial and dating girls." Finn's eyebrow raised a bit in curiosity, but he didn't pry. Blaine got the hint.

"The second girl I ever dated had an older brother who warned me about how she might look all sweet and innocent now, but once we'd been together a few weeks, she'd go all psycho on me—like throwing things and screaming about how much she hates me one minute and then wanting to bear my children the next. Granted, she was a bit of a control freak, but nothing quite as scary as her brother made it sound." He chuckled a little. "She _was_ pretty upset when she found out what her brother told me, though."

"Did you tell her?"

"About what he said to me?"

"Er…well, no. Not that."

"What, about the whole gay thing?" Finn nodded and Blaine shook his head in response, smiling a little. "No, she figured it out on her own when she caught me making eyes at said brother, and after I refused to so much as kiss her after we'd been going out for almost a month." He sighed and looked up at Finn. "It wasn't meant to last anyway. But Kurt…I just…what would make him snap like that? And the magazines and things you mentioned? Why would he do something like that?"

"I dunno. They really didn't tell us anything. We followed the police here and called Burt. I saw Kurt once before I came out here to meet you, but they were strapping him to a bed or something. He was still screaming. I don't…I've never seen anything quite like that." He looked to the floor. His hands, clenched tight in his lap, were shaking. "That was one of the scariest things I've ever seen. It was like he was possessed or something."

Blaine tried to imagine Kurt, the sweet, flamboyant, and yet almost shy boy he knew screaming and flailing like a mad man as nurses and orderlies strapped him to a table. It was unreal, like something out of one of those bad horror films Wes liked so much.

It was late. The hospital was quieting. Someone familiar stepped through the double doors, her own yellow visitor tag far too bright against her clothing.

"Isn't that your mom?" Finn's head jerked up. It was Carole, looking tired and lost and searching for her son.

"C'mon," Finn mumbled as he stood, gripping Blaine's elbow and pulling him up as well. They marched over to her and she melted a little in relief as they approached. God, she looked tired.

"Finn," she whispered and wrapped her arms around him briefly. Blaine wasn't sure who the gesture was meant to comfort more. When they broke apart, she looked briefly at him with a sad little smile. "You're Kurt's friend, aren't you?"

He nodded, but her attention had already shifted back to Finn. "Have you told him yet?"

"Everything I know, yeah. He called me earlier looking for Kurt—him and Kurt are pretty close—and I thought that maybe it'd comfort Burt to have someone else who isn't family know about this whole thing. Maybe he can help Kurt out where we can't, you know?"

She nodded silently and brushed her hand against the side of her son's face. "They're going to keep him overnight for observation. They're still not quite sure what's wrong or what caused this whole thing, but they're kicking us out for the night. Burt will be right along—he needed to talk to one of the doctors and figure out the earliest time he can come in tomorrow. I'm going to drive him home, if that's okay. He's in no fit state to drive right now."

Finn nodded, and Blaine felt terribly uncomfortable. This was a family moment and he was just _there_, the awkward third wheel. "Um, I guess I'd better go. I mean, if they're not letting us see Kurt…"

"Are you okay to be driving all the way home?" asked Finn as the other boy started to leave. "You live, like, a couple hours away, right? We've got an extra bed in the guest room if you want to stay the night and come with us in the morning. I don't think anyone will mind." He looked imploringly at his mom, who shrugged. She was really too tired to care at this point.

Blaine shook his head. "I'll be fine driving home. It's late, but I'm not really all that tired anymore. And I don't want to intrude on anything. So thanks for the offer, but…Just, just give me a call if you get any news, okay? I'll have my phone on me and you've got my number, right?"

"Yeah. I can plug it into my contacts from when you called earlier if it isn't in there already." He frowned and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Are you sure, man? It'd be no trouble-"

"If this is even close to being as serious as it sounds, and knowing Kurt like I do, it's probably better if I wait. Just promise you'll call me if anything happens."

"Yeah. Sure thing. Um, thanks. For coming down, I mean. You didn't have to-"

"Yeah, I did. It helped you out, didn't it? Having someone to talk to? And besides, if Kurt really thinks I'm as cute as you say he does, then I suppose I'd better start making nice with his family. You are his brother after all." He winked and Finn smiled.

"Heh, yeah, I guess so. Then I can give you the 'hurt him and you'll be meeting my lovely friend Mr. Shotgun' speech."

"I look forward to it." With that, he turned and walked out into the cool summer night. Worry fisted in the bottom of his stomach, but he had to control himself. Finn and Carole, they cared about Kurt too, and it wasn't his place to be there. Not now. Not yet. But soon. Soon they'd know what was going on and everything would be okay again. Kurt would be okay again. He just had to believe that.

He reached his car and put the key into the ignition. The car rumbled to life. He should probably call his parents, let them know he was on his way home, but it could wait a few minutes. He needed to get his head on straight again. As he pulled out onto the vaguely familiar streets of Lima, he turned the opposite direction from home. He just needed to drive for a while, clear his head. He needed to convince himself that this was real, but that everything would work out fine in the end. He had to believe that. He _needed_ to believe that.

Kurt would be fine. These things just need a little time to sort themselves out. Yeah, just a little time. He pulled into the empty parking lot of what looked to be a baseball diamond and idled in the empty space. He sat there in his car for a few minutes just staring at the green numbers of the radio clock. It was late. He should probably head home, should probably call his parents and let them know he was okay. But instead he stepped out of his car and climbed up to the roof. He sat there for a long time under the golden streetlamps, letting the pale yellow light and the tiny distant sparks of the stars wash over his body, the smooth metal of the car, and the worn asphalt below.

Some start to summer vacation this was.

* * *

Author's notes: Now you can be just as confused as everyone else! But don't worry, you'll see what's wrong with Kurt soon. And Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it. Mine promises to be relaxing; just the way I like it.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's notes: Some Blaine angst for y'all. Hopefully more to come soon.

* * *

Blaine never did get to sleep that night. He'd called his parents from the roof of his car, letting them know he was fine and on his way home, though he didn't actually leave the parking lot for some time. He blamed it on stoplights and the car acting up when his mother met him at the door in her fluffy white robe, eyes red and shadowed from her lack of sleep. She was upset, worried about him. He hadn't told either of his parents the reason he'd left in such a hurry, just that he had to get to Lima, and he mumbled something about a friend in the hospital when his mom asked in that quiet, worried way of hers now.

It was late. He said he was tired. She'd let him go after that, though he could see the questions lurking just behind her eyes. He couldn't deal with this right now. There was no news on Kurt, not that he was expecting anything. It didn't stop him from keeping his phone clutched tightly in his hands, even when the low battery signal began to blink at him, bright in the darkness of his room. It didn't stop him from turning the smooth plastic over and over in his hands until the motion was no longer comforting. It was late. Finn and the others had been getting kicked out when he'd left. They didn't really know much more than he did. Of course there was no news. Not until sometime tomorrow.

Blaine had thought the dark and quiet of his room would help make the exhaustion of his body overwhelm the racing thoughts spinning through his head and help put him to sleep. The dark had always worked to calm him before—both at home and at Dalton—when he couldn't get his mind to settle, but it was no use.

What the heck was he doing?

Sure, Kurt was cute. He'd thought the other boy was cute since he'd first seen the him at Dalton in his makeshift uniform, looking so very, very lost. And of course, he liked Kurt very much. The kid was talented, smart, and more than a little catty. They got along so well, and someday, _someday _he hoped to be something more to Kurt than just a friend. But this…he didn't know if he could handle this.

He closed his eyes and thought back to the Kurt he knew. Sweet, funny, flamboyant Kurt who wore the most outrageous things on the days when they didn't have to stay in uniform. Kurt, who had never lost his boy soprano, even after his voice changed. Kurt, who had been neglecting to comb his hair every other week, who had forgotten entirely about the bird that was supposed to be in his care. Kurt, who had delusions of people coming to get him. Kurt, who had gone after his stepbrother with a pair of scissors. Kurt, who was most likely strapped-down and sedated somewhere in the maze that was St. Rita's hospital.

If Finn's story had even a grain of truth to it (and how could it not? The guy had looked terrified, as had his mother, and why else would they be in the hospital? Why else would Finn have told him to come?), then this was serious. Really serious. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk his all for this boy. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk everything just to have it all go wrong. He wasn't sure he wanted to put his heart on the line and go down this road because he wasn't at all sure where it would lead. He tucked his head between his bent knees. If he were honest with himself, this fear, the overwhelming fear that it would all go wrong, was the reason he'd never asked Kurt out. He was such a coward. Even if he was crazy as a loon, Kurt deserved better than Blaine. He pressed his forehead harder into the soft fabric of his pants and wished desperately that he could disappear. No one deserved a coward such as him.

_But it was Kurt_. He screwed his eyes shut and thought of Kurt. _Oh, __K__urt_. He loved the way Kurt's eyes lit up whenever he heard the sound of music, the way Kurt could put all of himself into a song and then put in nothing at all, hiding himself away behind flowing notes and harmonies. He loved the way Kurt blushed when he got too close and the warmth of his hands when his fingers brushed against them. He loved the sound of his full-blown laugh and his awkward little jokes (though his low chuckle when one fell flat was not something he'd miss). Blaine loved Kurt's beautiful voice, his feather-soft hair, his blue-green eyes, his bright, beautiful smile that was all too rare nowadays. If only he could just get the Kurt he knew back, then everything would be okay again.

But, what if the Kurt he knew, the Kurt he loved, was never coming back? If Kurt really did have something really _wrong _with him, the treatments could erase all those little things about Kurt that made him so…well…_Kurt_.

What if he never saw that smile again? What if Kurt no longer cared about his bangs falling just so? What if he was no longer so finicky about the foods he ate (for fear of exacerbating his "pear hips," as he'd called them)? What if he no longer cracked those awkward, somewhat inappropriate jokes? What if his wit and biting sarcasm disappeared under a haze of drugs and therapy? What if he no longer had any desire to dance, to laugh, to _sing_? What if…what if Kurt never again looked at him with that delighted little gleam in his eye, like he was seeing his best friend in the entire universe, come home for the first in a very long time?

He could feel the skin of his forehead grow hot against his thighs. He wanted his mom to burst into his room and hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay. He wanted his sister, who always had the best advice, who always knew just what to say. He wanted his dad to pat him on the shoulder and take him out to a game, any game, and just avoid the topic of love and boys and fear and just _escape_ for a little while in the spectacle of men competing for the coveted ring, cup, title, whatever. He just didn't want to be here.

But life doesn't work that way. It was a little past three in the morning. Kurt was in the hospital, and Blaine was sitting on his bed at home feeling sorry for himself. His sister was in California, working as an intern at some competitive firm to boost her resume. She promised to call sometime soon, and she had some time coming up in July where she could book a flight home for a week or two. His parents were down the hall, probably asleep, or perhaps talking about their little boy and how he was so very, very lost and they didn't know what they could do to help because he wouldn't tell them anything. Wouldn't let them in.

God, how he wanted to cry. But no matter how hard he tried, his eyes remained bone dry, though they burned like little balls of fire in his skull. He didn't know if he could do this. He wasn't sure he was strong enough. But it was _Kurt_. He couldn't let him down. Not now. Not after his shoddy advice had gotten the boy assaulted and threatened. Not when the boy had followed in his footsteps and run away to Dalton. Not when he'd been leading Kurt on for so very long. It wasn't fair. He couldn't do that to Kurt. Especially not now, when Kurt was so very vulnerable.

Kurt was very much like the little glass bird his mother used to keep way up high on the shelf. He'd loved the thing as a kid—it was so pretty and delicate, and it looked a little like an angel or a bright cerulean star when the sun hit it just right—but he'd never been allowed to touch it. It was too fragile. He wasn't careful enough. But it didn't stop him from imagining the songs the little bird would sing if only it would open its beautiful glass beak, if he could only get his hands around its smooth glass body.

When he was finally tall enough to reach the high shelf, he'd grabbed the bird from its perch when no one was looking and held it in his hands for a moment, just a moment. And that little spot in time had been so bright, so wonderful, so _happy_ that he'd almost missed the feeling of the smooth blue glass slipping from his chubby child fingers. He'd felt his heart break as it shattered against the hardwood floor.

He was so afraid that if he touched Kurt (his beautiful little bird), that wonderful boy he loved would shatter, just like the little glass bird his mother had once held so dear, into a million tiny pieces that he couldn't touch for fear of cutting himself on the shards, for fear of breaking him even further. Just like everything else he'd ever loved.

But Kurt was already broken, wasn't he? And perhaps that was what frightened Blaine the most. How could he fix what was already broken? How could he find all of those pieces, with their sharp, terrible edges, and glue them back into the boy he loved?

Blaine pressed his face even harder into his knees, wishing the walls would just swallow him up. He could finally feel the hot prick of tears pressing up against his eyelids. No one was awake. No one would bear witness to the shameful flow of his tears.

This was all his fault. Kurt was breaking because of him, because of his presence, because of his sinful, burning touch. The boy was broken, and it was up to him to fix it.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's notes: Catching you up to my LJ people. And I have a friend who texts almost exactly the way I make Finn text in this chapter. Never do this. It makes you look terribly stupid and 'tis one of the more irritating things in life to receive and have to decipher something like that. (end of public service announcement) Enjoy.

* * *

It was two in the afternoon when the text came through. Blaine had been watching his phone all day, waiting for the device to jump from his desk, strain against its power cord, and buzz with the news he so desperately needed. There had been two false alarms that day—one call from his dad at the office around lunchtime to check up on him, wondering how he was doing, and if he was still okay with the date night his parents had planned for later, and the other was a text from David, curious to know if he was busy Tuesday afternoon—Blaine had been almost ready to give up when his phone jerked twice across the smooth wood of his desk, signaling a new text. Probably David again, or maybe Wes complaining about his cousins, whom he was visiting in Denver for the month.

Typical.

It was almost jarring to see Finn's name in the sender's line. He'd been waiting so long, had been so anxious for news, _any news_, all day, that it was a shock to finally get some.

_They think they no wats wrong w/ kurt. Hes still ritas & prolly not released for a few days. Will let u kno. F_

Well. That was helpful. He sighed and placed the phone back on the desk. God, he missed Kurt. The boy almost never used text speak when he contacted him—nearly always spelled everything out, capitalized all the proper letters, used proper punctuation, his thoughts always complete and tangible. The memory made him smile and then want to cry as he fell back onto the mussed covers of his bed.

He needed to pull himself together. He was tired from his total lack of sleep; even tears hadn't helped wear him out enough to put him to sleep. He hadn't bothered to shower that morning, just threw on some different clothes so his mom wouldn't get suspicious if she came home early. Dad was never home early anymore. Besides, weren't they going out later tonight? Yeah, that was what that call from earlier had been. Whatever. He didn't feel like talking to either of them anyway. He pulled one of his pillows to his chest and curled up around it. God, he needed to pull himself together. It was just one boy. Who had one breakdown. Nothing big. Not the end of the world. But it was Kurt, and he just couldn't let this go, couldn't get this out of his head.

He got up and wandered back over to his desk. His hand lingered over his phone for a few seconds before he finally built up enough courage to touch it. He pulled it free from its cord and sat down in his uncomfortable chair. The old wooden legs creaked with his weight. The tiny screen of his phone flashed to life under his fingers. The picture of a green battery blinked by, happily informing him that his phone was now fully charged.

He opened up his messages and found the one from Finn.

_They think they no wats wrong w/ kurt._

_They think they kno whats wrong w/ kurt._

_They think they know what's wrong with Kurt._

_**They think they know what's wrong with Kurt.**__ Finn could tell him what was wrong with Kurt._ He could get rid of the uncertainty that was eating him alive. But his fingers still hovered stupidly over the screen of his phone. What if Kurt didn't want him to know about all of this? What would he do in this situation? He thought about that one for a moment and only drew a blank. He didn't know. He couldn't even picture something like this happening to him. What should he do? What would Kurt do?

He hit reply. It couldn't hurt. But…but what the hell would he say?

_Is he awake? Are you allowed to see him? Am I? How's he doing? What's wrong with him? Should I come down? How are your parents doing? How is Kurt doing? Is it anything permanent? Can this be fixed? Is he still Kurt?_ A thousand questions rushed through his brain. What the hell should he say? His fingers moved almost of their own accord.

_How's he doing?_ He hit send.

Simple. Simple was better, right?

He placed the phone back on the desk. He really needed to pull himself together. A shower. He needed a shower. A shower would clear his head. Finn should respond in that amount of time. He pushed away from his desk and stood. He looked at the phone. Still quiet. Of course it was; he'd only sent out the message a few seconds ago, right? Good lord, he needed a shower.

As he turned to leave, a familiar buzzing filled his ears. Two short bursts. A text. He jumped back to his phone. Finn.

_Better. R u free tomorrow? Friends can c him tomorrow afternoon. F_

Tomorrow. What did he have going on tomorrow? He looked at the calendar hanging on his wall. A blue jay stared back at him from the shiny page. Birds. Right. He remembered. He liked birds. The calendar. A gift from his sister when she couldn't make it back in time for his birthday. She'd sent him the calendar instead, apologizing profusely when she was in town a week later. Birds. He liked birds. He'd always liked birds. He glanced over at Pavarotti's cage. The little yellow bird was staring at his reflection in the mirror Blaine had hung in his cage, bobbing up and down and side to side, eyes never leaving that other bird behind the reflective material. He smiled a little. The bird was kind of like Kurt—such a pretty little thing, but always checking himself to make sure he was perfect. Would Kurt still be like that, after all was said and done?

He shook his head and looked back to the calendar. Monday. There were no notes scribbled down. He checked his phone. Still nothing.

_I'm free. When can I come down?_

He didn't put the phone back this time, just stared at it in his hand, waiting for Finn's message back. Waiting. His eyes locked onto his curtains. He should open the window. There looked to be a breeze blowing outside, if the subtle glimpses of rustling leaves peeking in from the curtains were to be believed. The stillness of the fabric was bothering him more than it should, and he wanted some sunlight. He really wanted some sunlight. But he couldn't bring himself to move. Finn might text him back.

Any time now.

Any time.

One buzz. Two. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming through his entire body as the device vibrated in his palm. He flipped the phone around and opened the message. It was from Wes. He was threatening to strangle his cousin Dianne again. Shit. He couldn't deal with this right now. He threw his phone onto his bed and stormed over to the window and shoved the thing open. There. Open. Finally. He breathed in deep, letting the fresh air fill his lungs.

What was he doing? Why was this hitting him so hard? It was one boy. _Just a boy_. A friend. Nothing more. Why was he freaking out? What the hell was he doing?

He looked back over at Pavarotti's cage. The bird was still enchanted by his reflection. Looking at him made Blaine want to cry. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

He walked back over to his bed. Shit. Another new message. Missed while he was busy with the window. He hastily tapped the screen of his phone and opened up the new text.

_Is 3 ok? F_


	11. Chapter 11

Blaine didn't know how to feel about hospitals. They made him uneasy. There was something about the sterility of the place and the strangely intense organization found in such a chaotic atmosphere. Like a machine. Made of people. It made him really uneasy. But hospitals were good because they had to help people, right? This one was helping Kurt. Supposedly.

He wanted to pick at the bright pink tag they had stuck to his chest, loudly declaring him a visitor with its jarring color and his name scribbled across the front in chunky black marker. Must have run out of yellow for the day. Pity. His fingers itched to peel it off, crumple it up and throw it to the floor. He didn't even know why he hated it so much. He just, well, did. Maybe because it was a physical reminder of where he was. Maybe because it was in one of the most terrible and bright colors known to man. Maybe because seeing it on the floor would break the tense atmosphere, if only for a moment. Maybe because he just didn't like nametags. Maybe he just needed to take a deep breath and calm the heck down.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to finally find room 311. Kurt's room. The nurse at the desk and the little whiteboard hanging outside the door had told him as much. He wanted to rub off the tiny smears of grey, pink and blue left behind from old dry erase pens, old patients and names. Ghosts. Not Kurt. His fingers burned to do so. Probably just nervous energy. He really needed to calm down. Deep breath. _Just breathe, Blaine. You can do this. It's just Kurt. Nothing's changed_.

There were voices coming from inside the room. He looked through the half-open door, and caught a glimpse of Mercedes inside. She was sitting on the edge of the large bed filling the room, presumably talking softly to Kurt. He smiled a little. He didn't know her very well, but she always seemed to know how to cheer Kurt up. A good friend, her.

She patted the white sheets in front of her and stood to leave. Blaine stiffened. This was it. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, turning back to face Kurt briefly before stepping outside the room, her hand resting lightly on the door's edge. "I'll be back real soon, 'kay babe? My mom'll freak if I'm not there to help with dinner tonight. Jared's home, you know. She's been freaking about it all day, but he's her golden boy. Hopefully she gets this excited when I come back from college to visit." Blaine could hear the smile in her voice. "You just get to feeling better, boo, and I'll take you out shopping when you bust free from this place, 'kay? Love ya," she said and blew a kiss.

Mercedes turned and stepped over the threshold, pausing once she laid eyes on Blaine. She eyed him carefully, cocking her head to one side. She had deflated a bit since leaving the room, since stepping out of Kurt's line of sight. "We were all wondering when you'd show up." She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "You're about an hour late, my dear."

He ducked his head and flushed a little. "I know. I had some trouble getting down here. My mom held me up a bit, and then I hit nearly every red light known to man once I was able to get out of the house."

She smiled a little, her face tired and just a little sad. "Well, you're here now, and I guess that's what matters. Kurt's dad stepped out for a moment to get something to eat. He should be back in just a few minutes—Finn's mom threatened him if he didn't eat something today, and she sent him down to the cafeteria a little while ago."

"Is she in there with Kurt?"

She nodded. "He's allowed to be alone, but they'd rather he not be. Nobody's really sure how the meds are going to affect him yet."

"Oh. Okay." He really didn't want to think about Kurt on medication. "Um, where's Finn?"

She shrugged. "Downstairs, I think. He's probably eating with Mr. Hummel. He needs the company more than Kurt, in my opinion. This whole thing has hit him pretty hard. Not that I blame him. I'd be pretty beaten up about this too if it were my son."

Her eyes went a little distant for a moment before she turned her gaze back to him. "Go easy on him right now, okay? He's…he's not quite back to being _Kurt _yet." Her voice was terribly quiet and it sent a cold shill down Blaine's spine.

"What…what do you mean? Is he—is he okay?" he whispered. He could feel his heartbeat now, hard and growing faster in his chest. Oh god, he'd been so afraid of this happening. _Please tell me he's okay._

"Yeah. He's…he'll be okay. He's just—he's not all _there_ right now. I don't really know how to explain it. I think he'll be happy to see you, though." She smiled softly at him, her eyes dark and bright. "You're really special to him, you know that?"

His face grew hot and he ducked his head in embarrassment; he couldn't meet her gaze. "Finn told me something like that," he mumbled.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Well you are. Just don't mess it up, or I'll have to hunt you down. Can't have you messin' with my boy."

He chuckled nervously, not really sure if she was kidding or not. He was never really sure with Mercedes. She patted him once on the shoulder before stepping around his still form. "I've got my eye on you, Anderson," she said as she left, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Remember it."

Well, that did nothing to soothe his already frayed nerves. He liked Kurt's friends, he really did, but sometimes they freaked him out. Just a little. Okay, maybe a lot. He let out the breath he'd been holding since Mercedes had placed her hand on his shoulder. His fingers unconsciously picked at the little pink tag stuck to his shirt. Kurt. He needed to see Kurt.

He turned back to the door and its little whiteboard. He pushed the door open a little. The hinges made almost no sound, just a soft swoosh. Carole was talking quietly to Kurt, who was sitting in the bed, looking mussed and uncomfortable in the hospital garb. The paleness and sterility of the room didn't suit him—it washed him out, made him look sicker. But he still looked like Kurt, just not as put together as he should be. It was something, he supposed. A start.

He quietly stepped into the room and raised his hand in greeting. "Hey."

Carole smiled at him in that subtle way of hers. "Hey."

Kurt was smiling a little too, but he was too quiet. Carole stood and stretched. "I'm going to get a some coffee." She looked at Kurt; she knew they needed some time alone, was giving it to them. "That okay with you?" When he nodded, she turned back to Blaine. "Would you like any?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks, though." He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, so he simply stood awkwardly off to the side.

"Suit yourself. I'll be back in a sec." She left the room, giving Blaine a smile and a light touch on the arm as she passed. So. They were alone. He stood there for a minute before moving to take up Carole's seat beside Kurt's bed. Kurt wasn't looking at him, just stared at his hands.

"So you know, then." His voice was quiet, a little hoarse.

"Some of it, yeah." He tried to catch Kurt's gaze, but was unsuccessful. "Kurt, look at me."

Kurt didn't move. There wasn't even a sign that he'd heard Blaine at all. Blaine sighed. It was time to bring out the big guns.

He reached over and touched his palm to Kurt's cheek. "Look at me, Kurt."

Kurt raised his head and tracked his eyes over to Blaine's face. Confusion and pain were written all over his face. Blaine could see tears lining the bottom of Kurt's red-rimmed eyes, and the boy's voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again. "Please don't hate me."

"Oh, Kurt." He raised himself up to the edge of the bed and pulled Kurt to his chest. The other boy clutched weakly at the back of his shirt as he silently shuddered with tears. Blaine hated the tremors running through his body from Kurt. It was a sign of weakness that the Kurt he knew would never let show. Blaine ran his fingers through Kurt's hair, smoothing out the strands in the back. Kurt would be back to normal in no time, fussing with his own hair and wrapped in his own colorful clothes instead of this pale, crinkly, paper-thin gown.

"I could never hate you."

* * *

Author's notes: I've wanted to see more interaction between Blaine and Mercedes in the series. I think they'd either be pretty awesome friends (if Kurt would stop neglecting her for him and she could get over her hang-ups) or they be the most awkward pair ever. Like how I get around my best friend's boyfriend. There is nothing in common there but her, and it makes for one giant awkward fest. I could see this with Blaine and Mercedes, and it delights me for reasons I'm not entirely sure of.


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken a while—long enough for Carole to come back and settle herself into a chair in the corner of the room with her steaming cup of coffee—but Kurt had finally settled. When he pulled away from Blaine, his face was red and blotchy from crying, but he didn't move to scrub at his cheeks like he would have before. Blaine wanted him to so badly, wanted it so much that it hurt; it would have been a sign that Kurt was completely fine, that nothing had really changed.

Kurt had fallen silent and still against his pillows, but Blaine refused to leave. He was needed here. He needed to bring Kurt back. He absently fingered the tag at his chest. The corners had started to peel away from the fabric. The sticky back of the tag was dusted with bits of debris and blue fuzz from his shirt.

"You keep touching that. Is it bothering you?"

"Huh?"

Kurt gestured to the glaringly bright thing pasted to his chest. "Your nametag. You keep picking at it. Does it bother you?"

He looked at it. Really looked at it for the first time since putting it on. It was ugly. So very, very ugly. Ugh, and he'd written his name all funky. You could hardly see the 'e' and the 'i' was horribly deformed, making it look as though his name was really "Blarn Anderson." Great. Now he hated it even more.

"Yes." He scowled at the thing. "Yes, it bothers me. If it wasn't a threat to hospital security this would be gone so fast…"

"It's a good color on you."

"What?" Kurt was smiling at him, almost exactly that same mischievous grin he always wore when he was teasing Blaine about something.

"That color. It's good on you. Brings out your eyes."

Blaine smiled and puffed out his chest, fluttering his eyelashes. Carole was snickering softly in the background. "Really? You think so? Maybe I'll just have to wear this color more often."

"But of course, my dear sir. However, you may want to call me before you get dressed in the mornings because even though periwinkle and hot pink may seem like a good idea when you're half-asleep, it's an awful lot like animal print pants or sweaters with horses or wolves pasted across them. No."

"What? You mean to tell me that my aunt's favorite sweatshirts aren't fashionable?" His grin widened. "And this isn't periwinkle. It's sky blue." He flavored the words with a little sweep of his fingers.

Kurt poked him in the chest, causing him to let out the large breath he'd been holding. "_That _is periwinkle. Deal with it."

"Fine. Fine. Have it your way." He leaned back in his chair, mockingly crossing his arms over his chest. "But then I guess you owe me a hot pink shirt when you get out of here, if it makes my eyes look as amazing as you say."

"I can arrange that," piped Carole from her seat with a smile, sipping her coffee.

"Am I missing something?" Burt stepped into the room, Finn at his back. The man looked exhausted. His clothes were rumpled, like he'd slept in them. Several times. He moved around to the other side of Kurt's bed and leaned against the window frame. Awesome dad or not, the man still made Blaine nervous. Blaine stood, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor.

"Um, do either of you guys want to sit? There's only two chairs, and I don't mind standing or anything."

Finn shook his head. "Nah, we're good." He smiled down at him. "Besides, I think Kurt is happy with you right where you are."

Blaine blushed a little and sat back down. Kurt wasn't looking at him, though: his gaze was fixed on his father.

"You should really go home, dad. Get a shower and maybe a little sleep."

"No, Kurt. I need to be here-"

"But you look like hell."

"I don't really care about that."

"But _I_ do. And you really look like you could use some sleep."

"I'll sleep when you're home. Kurt, I should be here-"

"_I'll be fine_. I promise. Carole or Finn or even Blaine could stay here with me if you're afraid of me being alone." He was getting upset, his voice tight and strained.

"But-"

"He's right, Burt. You do look pretty awful." Carole had uncurled herself from her chair and was staring hard at her husband. "Why don't you let Finn take you home for a little bit? I'll stay here with Kurt."

He was still hesitant. He didn't want to leave his son, but it was upsetting Kurt to see him so haggard. An hour or two couldn't hurt. "All right. But I'll be back before visiting hours are up."

"I'll be here." Kurt deflated a bit, sinking back against the pillows at his back. "Carole's pretty good company, you know. I can see why you married her." He smiled a little, though he seemed really tired all of a sudden. "And I guess Blaine isn't too bad either."

Burt looked at Blaine almost as if he were seeing him for the first time. His expression was unreadable and made Blaine uneasy. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Finn broke the silence. "C'mon, Burt. I'll take you home. I could use a nap too." He pulled Burt away from Kurt's bed toward the door.

Carole gripped Burt's hand as they passed. "We'll be here when you get back. Try and get some sleep." He bent down and gave her a quick kiss before stepping through the door in silence. Silence hung heavy in the room with their absence. Carole cleared her throat and stood.

"I'm going to get some more coffee. You sure you don't want any, Blaine? It's not very good, but it keeps you awake."

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks for offering, though. Maybe before I head out."

"All right. Will you boys be fine by yourselves for a minute? I'm just going down the hall." Her voice was laden with worry. Kurt was oddly quiet again.

"Yeah, we'll be okay. You go take care of yourself."

She nodded, running her hand over Kurt's limp fingers before quietly sweeping from the room. The place turned eerily still, too quiet. Blaine stared out the window. There was a large brick building blocking any view there might have been. There were birds—pigeons—lining the rim of the old red bricks. Someone had tagged the wall in purple paint. He wondered absently how they got it up so high. A ladder, probably.

"Blaine?"

He turned back to Kurt. God, the kid looked tired. Some sleep would do him good too. He grabbed Kurt's hand. Maybe he'd find the touch comforting. "I'm here. What's up?"

Kurt was staring at the wall, the lids of his eyes heavy, trying desperately to hide the dull look in those blue-green depths. What had happened? Kurt was laughing and smiling just a minute ago. "How much do you know?"


	13. Chapter 13

Blaine was speechless for a second. He neither liked the deadness in Kurt's tone nor the question being asked. He rose from his seat, pretending he hadn't heard Kurt speak at all. "Um, I should probably go once Carole gets back. You look like you could use some sleep, and-"

"Cut the crap, Blaine." His voice was louder this time. Kurt's hand was tight around his own, holding him back. He was staring at him, blue eyes wide and hard. "How much do you know?"

Kurt's fingers gripped his harder, almost like a vice. Blaine's knuckles burned from being crushed together so tightly. "Kurt, you're hurting me."

"How much do you know?" His voice was still flat, dead, though a bit more insistent this time.

Blaine felt his heart rise up into his throat, cutting off his air, choking him. He looked toward the door. It was still open a tiny bit. He could see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the tiled floor of the hallway outside, peeking in through the crack under the door and around the side. Phantoms and shadows of people passed by, obscuring the light time and again. He could yell. Scream for help. This was a psych ward. There were lots of people, lots of security. All he had to do was make a sound. They'd come running. But that meant that Kurt really wasn't well, that the medication wasn't helping. The he wasn't getting better. Blaine didn't think he could bear that.

His breath quickened as he looked from Kurt back to the door. Where was Carole? Shouldn't she be back by now? Shouldn't she have gotten her coffee and come back by now and made everything better? Why wasn't everything better yet?

"She's not coming back."

He looked to Kurt. The grip hadn't lightened at all; he could barely feel his fingers. Kurt's expression was still the same, and Blaine could feel hot blood pulsing through his veins with every fevered heartbeat. "What?"

"She's not an idiot. She knows I need to talk to you. Alone. Why else would she have left to refill a cup that's only half empty? She's giving us time to talk. She couldn't do that when my dad and Finn were just downstairs. They'd interrupt. Now sit."

Blaine shot one last worried glance at the door. This wasn't happening. _This couldn't be happening. _He wanted to go home. Maybe then he'd wake up from this nightmare. Maybe then this would all be a dream or some sort of cosmic joke, and he'd wake up in his room with a light breeze blowing on his face and Pavarotti singing in the hazy mid-morning sunlight of a summer day. He would call Kurt, and they'd laugh and sing and everything would be okay. He could tell Kurt he loved him, just like he wanted to, and the boy would tell him he loved him back. This would all be a dream. Nothing but a bad dream. He wasn't really sitting here, scared out of his mind with this stranger wearing the face of his friend. Everything was okay; he wasn't here. Not really. This couldn't be happening.

But he could see Kurt's pale, pale fingers wrapped around his own. He could see the ruffled bangs in that familiar color he loved so much, the tiny red veins standing out in his soulful, blue eyes. The gaze was dead, the expression unreadable, but he could see something there. He could see _Kurt_ in there somewhere.

He sat down again. The chair wasn't as comfortable as it had been just a few minutes before.

"How much do you know?" That question again.

"I know that you've been distracted these past couple of weeks. Wandering away in the middle of conversations, forgetting to comb your hair every now and again, things like that." He paused and took in a deep breath. His voice was too shaky. Kurt had to know that he was scared. This was so much harder than he'd thought. He wanted nothing more than be gone, away from this room, away from here, but he couldn't. Couldn't escape. Couldn't run away from this. "Do you remember Pavarotti?"

Kurt perked up a little at the name. "The bird you guys gave me when I joined up? The little yellow one? Did he die?" His face then sagged with a worried frown. "Did I kill him? He was there, I remember, in my room—his feathers were falling off—but then he just wasn't…anymore." He looked up at Blaine and his expression was so lost that Blaine's heart broke, if only a little bit.

"Did I kill him, Blaine?"

Blaine shook his head met Kurt's tortured gaze. He didn't want to see that look on Kurt's face—that painful, hurt look in his eyes—but it was better than the deadness that had been there before. He'd take anything over that. "No, you didn't. He's with me, actually. At home. He's fine. You…" He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to tell Kurt just how close he had come to killing the bird. But he couldn't hide this. Not if he wanted Kurt to get better. Not if he wanted the old Kurt back. "You weren't taking care of him, so I took him. He probably would have died if I hadn't. You never asked me about him, so I just figured you'd forgotten."

He quieted a moment. Kurt had released his hand, but Blaine hadn't bothered to move it from Kurt's reach. Trust. They needed trust. It was the first step in any relationship. That's what his mother always told him. Kurt wasn't looking at him. It was too quiet. Blaine kept going. Kurt needed to know. "Finn told me about the break-in scare. After you got home for the summer. He said you'd been acting a little funny before that, though. And the scissors. He told be about the thing with the scissors."

Kurt wasn't looking at him, just stared hard at the sheets and blankets covering his legs. The hand furthest from Blaine was curled tight around the topmost blanket. The silence was pervasive. Blaine wanted to bolt from the room, never come back. He almost stood to leave when he heard a low chuckle. Kurt was…laughing?

Kurt threw his head back, breathing in deep and loud through his mouth. Blaine could see tears in his eyes, though his face was completely dry. "I don't remember it."

"What?"

"The attack. I don't remember it. I only know what they told me. They asked me all kinds of things. Like why I did it. Why scissors? Why did I cut up my magazines? Why Finn, of all people? But I don't—I don't know. I don't remember…I think—I think they told me to do it. They were always telling me to do things." Tears were starting to run down his cheeks.

Blaine edged back in his seat. He hadn't just heard that. Kurt was fine. "I think I need to go. You should get some sleep. I'm keeping you awake when you need to sleep." He stood and readied himself to leave.

Kurt fixed him with a vacant stare. He stopped dead in his tracks. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Blaine didn't answer him. Just stared back in silence until Kurt turned over, facing the window. "Go."

"I'll be back tomorrow-"

"Just go!"

And Blaine fled, nearly barreling into a confused and startled Carole in his mad dash to the parking lot, to escape this nightmare. What was he doing? It was one boy. Just one stupid boy that he couldn't get out of his head.

He realized he was crying when he got into the driver's seat of his car, and he tore at his face, trying to ease the pain in his heart by erasing the evidence left behind on his cheeks. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he do anything right? Why was everything so messed up? _Why was everything so hard? _A flash of pink caught his eye. The stupid nametag. He ripped the thing from his shirt and crumpled it in his hands. He was about to toss it to the floor but something stopped him. There was a tiny corner of pink peeking out from the sticky, wadded ball. Pink. Kurt had said the color brought out his eyes. He slowly peeled the tag free from itself, smoothing the crumpled paper as best he could, and stared at it. 'Blarn Anderson' glared back in chunky black marker, framed in that color Kurt had so admired.

He couldn't do this. He gently placed the crumpled nametag in one of the empty cup holders, laid his head on the steering wheel and wept.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's notes: Bleah, I don't think I did a very good job with Finn in this chapter. Ah well. Hope it reads okay nonetheless. You'll find out what's up with Kurt pretty soon here.

* * *

It was Thursday before Blaine had any more contact with the Hummels. He almost didn't pick up when he saw Finn's name dance across the screen of his cell phone. He wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to face this just yet. But this was the third time Finn had called in the past hour; he must really want to talk to him. He knew he should pick up, but Blaine was still hesitant. He didn't want to do this.

The phone was insistent, buzzing madly on the wooden surface of his desk, rattling the little metal cup holding his pens and pencils and the scattered trinkets resting on the wooden surface. He couldn't run away from this, could he? It hadn't helped to turn the stupid thing to silent, and he hadn't thought to turn it off. Oh well. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty. Might as well get this over with. He stood and walked over to his desk. Five rings for each call—three down, two to go. Well, one now. He picked up the phone and connected the call.

"Hello?" God, he sounded tired. Not surprising, considering how poorly he'd been sleeping lately. A nap was definitely in order for later.

"What the hell, dude? I've been trying to reach you for…I don't even know! Why haven't you been picking up your phone? Where are you?" Finn's voice was rough, and wherever he was must not have had very good cell reception because his muffled, scratchy, static-filled voice kept cutting in and out like an old radio.

He sighed and walked over to his bed, falling heavily onto the covers. He really didn't want to deal with this right now.

"Hello? Blaine?" Finn's voice wavered in and out with a few muffled curses. "Are you there? Hello?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. You might want to find a place with better reception, though. I can hardly hear you."

The other end went silent for a moment. Blaine pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the screen. The call hadn't ended; Finn was still on the line. Probably looking for better reception. Whatever. He'd ignored the other boy long enough. The least he could do was wait for him to say his peace. He slumped forward and watched his bare feet as they swept back and forth across the carpet. There were a few tiny yellow feathers caught in the fibers, dotting the floor with sunny little bits of color. He really needed to vacuum. He looked to the clock hanging on the wall and then pulled the phone away from his ear. The call was still open. Finn was apparently still on the line.

"Finn? Are you there?"

His voice came in much louder and stronger this time around. "What the hell, man? I thought I could trust you with this. I mean, Kurt liked you well enough, so I didn't question it, but-"

Blaine could feel his building irritation rise up in the back of his mind at Finn's rant. _Just keep calm. You didn't do anything wrong._ "Just what exactly are you so upset about, Finn?"

"Don't play games with me, Anderson," he growled.

"I'm not. It is, however, really hard to sit here and get yelled at when I don't know what it is that I did." His free hand rose to rub at his temple. He liked Finn well enough—he seemed like a pretty decent guy—but he could be awfully irritating at times. Blaine was going to need some pretty hefty painkillers for the massive headache that was building.

He could hear Finn let out a frustrated huff of breath on the other end. "Why did you leave Kurt alone? You know he was supposed to have someone there with him at all times."

"I was told that that was a recommendation, Finn, not an order, and he told me to leave—outright, I might add—so I did. I figured he needed some space, some time to himself to get this whole thing sorted out."

"Then why didn't you find my mom? When you booked it out of there, she thought the worst, do you know that? You could have gotten a nurse or somebody. They all thought Kurt had flipped or something again. They held him for a few extra hours because of that."

Blaine sighed. His feet had stopped their swaying and his right knee had taken to jumping furiously in his growing anxiety. He sighed again and bowed lower, his forehead growing ever closer to his bent knees. He was so close to hitting himself in the head with his ever-bouncing kneecap. "I panicked, Finn."

"Panicked? It's Kurt. What is there to be afraid of?"

His breath caught in his throat. "Wait, what? What do mean?"

"_It's Kurt_. In case you haven't noticed, he's not exactly the most intimidating person in the world. And he hasn't really acted funny since he was treated; no violence or anything. What's there to be afraid of? Is there something you're not telling me? What the hell happened?"

Blaine felt his heart stop. He thought back to his meeting with Kurt. _He hasn't really acted funny since he was treated. _Of course. He'd seemed perfectly normal when Carole had been in the room, when Mercedes had been there. He'd only seemed tired when his dad and Finn had made it up to see him. Tired, but normal. Nothing really out of place. Things had only gotten weird when it had been him and Kurt alone. Maybe it had just been a fluke. A brief lapse. Perhaps the medication just hadn't been working properly just yet. Or maybe…

"No. No, there's nothing. Nothing happened. I-just…look, he told me to leave. And I did. Nothing happened, really. I just didn't know what to do. I panicked."

Finn was quiet. Blaine's heart was beating too fast in his chest; he could feel his blood pounding far too fast, far too hot, through his body, through his brain. _Say something. Why wasn't he saying anything? _He didn't think he'd ever felt more relieved when he heard Finn's loud sigh breeze through the tiny speakers of his phone.

"Whatever, man. It doesn't matter anyway. I called because Kurt wants to see you. He's been kind of irritating about it, actually. Won't leave me alone. We haven't found his phone just yet, and he's asleep right now, which is why I'm the one calling you, not him."

"Oh. Um, when…? I mean, I'm free. Yeah, um, I could come over. When can I…um, when should I come down?"

Finn let out a frustrated huff of air. His voice had regained that rough quality again, though it was still loud and clear. Not reception problems again, then. Exhaustion, probably. "I don't know. Whenever you're free, I guess. Burt's taking some time off to keep an eye on Kurt, so he should be home. I don't really care what you do. Not after what you pulled on Monday."

That stung. It wasn't his fault. Not really. "Tell him I'll be down sometime tomorrow. And Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that. I just-"

"Whatever, man. I'll get over it. Just…I don't know. Don't screw up again. I kind of like you—you're pretty easy to talk to—but Kurt seemed really upset."

"I know. I just…I panicked. I-"

"Just come down and see him. I don't know what you guys talked about, but whatever it was, he seems to be over it now. Just don't screw up again or I will find you and hurt you, got it?"

"Okay. Yeah, I got it. Okay, um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Probably not. I'm going to be out tomorrow, but Burt should be around."

"All right. Um, thanks, Finn. Tell Kurt I said hello, will you?"

"Yeah. I'll tell him. And I'll text you or something when we get a hold of Kurt's phone again."

"Thanks. So, uh, I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to you later." And the line went dead.

He held the phone up to his ear long after the call ended. Something was really, really wrong. Finn hadn't noticed anything off about Kurt. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it had just been a lapse in the medication. Maybe the medication was just too new. Maybe, maybe it was just stress. Maybe he'd just been tired. A lapse. Just a lapse. But…but Kurt had seemed lucid enough. What if—what if he'd been hiding something? His heart leapt into his throat. He couldn't breathe. Oh god, he couldn't breathe. _Kurt_. He had to talk to Kurt.

But it could wait. It would have to wait. Tomorrow. He would see Kurt tomorrow. Everything would be okay. A lapse. Yeah, it was just a lapse. Kurt was fine. Everything would be okay.

He tapped lightly on the door, though he was already in the room. Stairs had never seemed so daunting before.

"Kurt?"

There wasn't any response. Blaine hesitated. This was a bad idea. Kurt was probably asleep. His dad had warned him that he might be asleep. He shouldn't be here. He should go. He should—

Suddenly, Kurt was there, peeking up around the curve of the stairs. The boy looked a little disheveled in his casual clothes and with his hair ruffled and sticking up in most every direction as though he'd just gotten up from a long sleep, but he looked far better than he had in the hospital. He looked like _Kurt_. Any thought Blaine had about questioning Kurt's actions in the hospital flew out the window at the sight of him. He just looked so _normal_. It had to have been a lapse or something similar. Nothing big. He had just been overreacting. Kurt was fine.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's notes: I think these guys deserve a little break, don't you? So have some fluff. Oh, and because I've been extremely lax on this front, a huge thank you to all of you who take the time to read my stories (and favorite them and/or put them on alert). Also, my undying gratitude goes out to those of you who review. You don't really know how much it means to get feedback, good or bad, on my work, so thanks. You guys are awesome.

* * *

He tapped lightly on the door, though he was already in the room. Stairs had never seemed so daunting before.

"Kurt?"

There wasn't any response. Blaine hesitated. This was a bad idea. Kurt was probably asleep. His dad had warned him that he might be asleep. He shouldn't be here. He should go. He should—

Suddenly, Kurt was there, peeking up around the curve of the stairs. The boy looked a little disheveled in his casual clothes and with his hair ruffled and sticking up in most every direction as though he'd just gotten up from a long sleep, but he looked far better than he had in the hospital. He looked like _Kurt_. Any thought Blaine had about questioning Kurt's actions in the hospital flew out the window at the sight of him. He just looked so _normal_. It had to have been a lapse or something similar. Nothing big. He had just been overreacting. Kurt was fine.

Kurt wore a plain white t-shirt and what looked to be a soft pair of fleece pajama pants, a little rumpled and mint green in color. His fingers were caught up in his hair, smoothing it down. He seemed kind of tired, maybe a bit confused, his face a little worn, but nothing was really out of the ordinary. It was as though Blaine had caught him after a long nap. Well, if he thought about it, he probably had. Whoops.

"Blaine? Sorry, I'm not together. Finn told me you were coming, but I didn't know when you'd be down." He smiled a little, leaning forward to rest on the banister, and Blaine felt his fears melt away. "You should've given me fair warning. I must look like a hot damn mess, as Mercedes is so fond of saying."

Blaine sat down on one of the carpeted steps and folded his hands together in front of him. Kurt had tugged the hem of his shirt down, so the bottom no longer rode up high along his waist, threatening to reveal his torso. His hands had moved back to his hair, trying to tame his unruly chestnut bangs. It was unbearably cute, and Blaine couldn't help but smile.

"Do you need me to give you a minute?"

"That would be lovely, but judging from your outfit, I'd say you're worse off than me."

Blaine looked down at himself. "What's wrong with it?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, jutting his hip out in a very sassy manner that reminded Blaine of Mercedes. "It looks like you stole your shirt from an obese blind man. And as much as my dad loves it, the acid-wash jean look went out of style years ago. I thought you had _some_ fashion sense, Blaine."

"But I love this shirt. My sister gave it to me," he pouted, pulling at the faded yellow fabric.

"Does she even know what size you wear?"

"Um, well, no…but-"

"My point exactly. Did she get it for you thinking perhaps you would grow into it?" Kurt's face was lit up with a cheeky grin.

"Perhaps, Mr. Hummel, perhaps." Blaine's smile was just as bright.

"Oh, don't call me that. Makes me feel like an old man." Kurt sighed lightly, his smile still light and joking. He gestured with his head for Blaine to come down. "Why don't you come on down, _Mr. Anderson_? At least while I get an outfit put together." His grin grew ever wider. "Then you can keep my dad company."

Blaine looked nervously behind him at the mostly open door. "You sure? Your dad's nice and all, but…"

"But?"

Blaine looked at his socked feet, twisting his fingers together anxiously. He had pulled his head back into his neck, into the neck of his overlarge t-shirt, giving Kurt the impression of a billowy, off-color turtle made of bed sheets. "Well? What about my dad?" He leaned forward again, folding his arms on the banister, his chin resting on his wrists. "Come on, then. Spit it out," he goaded, his smile growing ever wider.

Blaine mumbled incomprehensibly. A rosy flush bloomed across his cheeks. God, but the carpet was fascinating.

"What was that? You'll have to speak up. I didn't quite catch that."

"He intimidates me."

"What? My dad? Pssh, he's a teddy bear."

"With claws," he muttered back.

Kurt chuckled and beckoned Blaine down before turning to his closet. Blaine stood and carefully made his way down the carpeted steps. There was a light pinkish-brown stain at the bottom of the stairs. From Finn's sandwich, he guessed. The texture was slightly different there. He'd never pick Finn out to be a peanut butter and jelly man. He absently wondered just what kind of jelly left a stain that color.

"You can sit down over there if you'd like."

Kurt gestured absentmindedly with one hand to the bed on one side of the room. Finn's bed, probably. In all the times Blaine had been in Kurt's home, he'd never actually been in his room before. Kurt was shuffling around on the other side of the room, rifling through his closet and drawers, pulling out various articles of clothing and tossing them onto the bed closest to him. Blaine looked around the room. Definitely Finn's room, judging from the décor.

"You were right."

"Hmm?" Kurt looked up at him, a bright blue shirt draped over his arm.

Blaine gestured to the walls. "About the room. Finn really doesn't have much taste, does he? I mean, what's up with the green paint and bikini posters?"

Kurt huffed out a breathy laugh. "I know, right? Shocked the heck out of me when I came home for the holidays to find _this_ had been done to my sanctuary. At least my vanity is still intact." He threw something very, very red onto the growing pile atop his bed.

Blaine looked over to the vanity and saw the little row of plastic orange bottles lined up neatly beside the mirror. Those had to be new. Kurt was probably upset about their atrocious color. He wanted so badly to ask Kurt about them, but kept silent. Kurt would tell him eventually. He'd find out in time. "So, have you found anything yet?"

Kurt smiled at him from his spot low on the floor, crouched beside one of his drawers. "I think so. Finn told me once that red was my color." He held up a crimson scarf to his cheek. "What do you think?"

"As much as I hate to say it, he's right. There's a reason you look good in uniform, you know." He leaned down and rested his chin in his palm. "Though I firmly believe that blue brings out those beautiful eyes."

Kurt arched one delicate eyebrow. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "So, you think my eyes are beautiful, huh?"

Blaine felt heat rush to his cheeks and he ducked his head. _Crap. It's too soon for this, Blaine. What the hell do you think you're doing?_

"Maybe," he mumbled into his shirt.

Kurt rose from his place on the floor and walked over to Blaine. "You're too sweet for your own good sometimes, Mr. Anderson." He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss to Blaine's dark curls before smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Now get your sweet butt upstairs so I can change. If you ask, I bet my dad can brew you up some coffee or something."

Blaine sat very still for a minute. Kurt had kissed him! On the top of the head, but still. He suddenly remembered the gift he'd brought for Kurt. "Oh, um, before I go, I have something for you." He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Kurt stood off to the side, quiet with anticipation.

Blaine stuck his fingers into the pocket he was looking for and pulled out a tiny yellow feather. He handed it to Kurt. "For you. From your dear friend Pavarotti," he said with a smile. "It's a little crumpled, but-"

"I love it." Kurt smiled, holding the feather pinched in his fingers almost reverently. "Tell him I say thanks, and maybe give him a kiss from me."

"I guess I'll just have to do that, won't I?" He folded the wallet back together and stuffed it back into his pocket as he rose to his feet. "You really think these jeans are ugly?"

"Incredibly. No go. Scat. I need to get a shower in." Kurt shooed Blaine away with a flick of his hands. "I'll be up shortly. And who knows? Maybe after I get myself put together, we can work on that train wreck you're wearing."

Blaine smiled and made for the stairs. "It's a date."


	16. Chapter 16

Author's notes: For the record, I find long, awkward conversations very difficult to write. Hopefully this is believable. Enjoy.

* * *

Burt was waiting for him in the kitchen when Blaine made his way out of the basement, quietly shutting the door behind him. He'd paused briefly at the top of the stairs and traced the deep gouges he found there in the door. Flecks of paint had migrated into the wounds, like tiny specks of white blood against the tan muscle of natural wood. His fingertips caught on the splintered wood as he ran them along the sides of the cuts. It hurt: not enough to gouge, but enough to sting, if only a little. He wondered what Kurt thought of them, when Finn would fix them. They were scars—a testament to what had happened, proof that it was real, just like that stain at the bottom of the steps. Kurt would probably place a rug or something there later on to hide it. Leave behind no evidence. He was rather particular about stains.

The white walls and linoleum of the kitchen felt familiar after being in Kurt's bedroom. Didn't make the man leaning up against the sink any less intimidating, though.

"Um, hello, Mr. Hummel."

He tipped his head in acknowledgement, the rim of his baseball cap rising just enough for Blaine to see his eyes. "Blaine. It's good to see you again. You hungry?"

"No, not really." He stood there at the juncture of carpet and linoleum. His heels sunk into the plush fibers of the carpet and his toes brushed back and forth over the much smoother surface of the kitchen floor.

Burt was a loving father (Kurt had extolled his father's virtues to him endlessly while they were at school) but he still made Blaine uneasy, especially after hearing about the incident that had occurred when Finn and his mother first moved in. He wasn't sure exactly what might set the man off, what might trigger the wrong reaction. Blaine's toes moved ever faster across the slick linoleum. His heart was beating too fast, but he couldn't find a way to calm himself.

Burt raised an eyebrow. "Thirsty, then?"

"Uh, sure. I…um, I'll take whatever. I'm not really picky."

"Coffee okay?" He motioned lightly toward the coffee maker on the counter with his chin. Blaine noticed it for the first time as it steamed and sputtered quietly on the corner.

"Yeah, yeah, that's okay. That's perfectly fine."

Burt grinned tiredly at him. He rocked forward on his heels and made for the kitchen table, pulling out one of the worn chairs and sitting down comfortably with a sigh. He gestured at the table with an open hand. "Care to join me?"

"Uh, yeah! Sure." Blaine scurried over to one of the open seats, his feet shuffling lightly as he moved. The two sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to speak.

Burt was the one to break the silence. "Kurt send you up here?"

"Uh, yeah. He wanted to get dressed, though I'm not entirely sure why. He looked fine to me, but I suppose he might have just gotten up from a nap. He looked kind of disheveled. I wasn't planning on going anywhere else today. I just…kind of, um, wanted to…see Kurt." His voice grew smaller and smaller and he sunk lower and lower into his seat as Burt's eyes bored into him.

"I see."

They sat there in silence for a few minutes until Kurt came bursting out of the basement door, an armful of clothes clutched to his chest. He smiled at the two of them. "Making friends, I hope?"

Burt smiled back. "Depends. You take your meds?"

Kurt lowered his eyes to the bundle of clothes he held in his arms. His smile had melted away the second the question had left his father's lips. He was ashamed. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, I did."

"Good." A tiny beep sounded, breaking the silence. The coffee pot, signaling the end of the brew. Burt stood and made his way over to the other end of the kitchen. "Have a good shower, bud." He pulled down two mugs from the cabinet as Kurt scurried down the hall toward the bathroom. Blaine heard the door shut with a soft click. He waited for the telltale sign of water running before slouching down in his seat.

The thud of ceramic hitting the wooden table in front of him spurred him out of his reverie. Clear, steaming coffee waved back and forth in a little brownish disk from the inside of the white mug. There was a tiny chip on the handle—it's only imperfection. It reminded him a bit of Kurt, trying so hard to look perfect, pristine, and failing because of a flaw he couldn't quite hide.

"Sorry it's kind of old. With how much coffee we drink around here, you'd think we'd have better mugs, but what can I say?" He grinned at Blaine as he poured himself a cup. "We're lazy." He placed the pot back into its nook in the machine. "Sugar? Milk?"

"Uh, sugar. A little sugar would be nice. No milk."

Burt made a little face as he grabbed the sugar container from its place near the fridge. He sat back down in his chair and slid the sugar and a spoon toward his guest. "There's a scoop in there. Go ahead and use that to get what you need." He sipped gently at his own mug as he watched Blaine awkwardly fumble with the lid to the container, making a face when the boy scooped a few spoonfuls into his mug. "I don't understand how you can stand it like that. Kurt drowns his out with too much milk and Finn goes for a double whammy with the milk _and _sugar. Least Carole likes to actually taste hers."

Blaine placed the scoop back and stirred the sugar into his coffee. He watched the granules as they disappeared into the clear brown liquid. "Well, I actually wouldn't mind milk in mine either, but I don't handle dairy all that well." He looked up and smiled a little. "I'm sort of lactose intolerant."

Burt sipped at his coffee again. "Huh. Never would have thought that." He shook his head and smiled a little. "I still don't understand how you kids can stand that sweet crap. Straight black for me."

Blaine nodded a bit and sucked lightly on the spoon. Just sweet enough. The soft hum of the pipes running filled the silence between them.

"Has Kurt told you anything yet?"

He looked up and stared at the man across from him. Burt had chin cupped in his hand, elbow resting on the table. Blaine didn't think he'd ever seen the other man so tired, except for maybe in the hospital room. The rim of his battered cap was tilted awkwardly across his forehead. "No, sir."

Burt sighed and leaned back. Blaine swore he could feel the man's eyes peering into his soul. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sipped at his coffee, trying to ground himself. It was just Kurt's dad. There wasn't anything to be afraid of.

"You and Kurt. You're pretty close, aren't you? He talks about you all the time."

Blaine blushed a little at that. "I guess you could say that. He's a really good friend."

Burt nodded. "Anything more than that?"

"Uh, no. Nothing…" He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Nothing like that."

"But you want to be, right?"

Blaine didn't speak. He could feel the heat from his cheeks spreading down his neck and up around his ears. Oh god, he must look like tomato. His coffee was suddenly very, very interesting. He watched tiny bubbles congregate and pop around the inside edges of his mug.

Burt quietly drank from his mug once more. He eyed the boy in front him, the nervous way he handled his coffee, his flushed face, his overlarge shirt. Blaine was a good kid. He just needed to know that he wouldn't leave Kurt hung out to dry. "I don't mind, you know. Just don't…" He sucked in a deep breath. "Just promise me you'll treat him right."

"I'm sorry?"

"Look, I don't know much about this sort of thing, and to be honest, I'm not really ready to talk to Kurt about dating and stuff just yet, but you seem like a pretty good kid. Kurt doesn't trust too easily, but he seems to like you, so I'll give you a shot."

"Um, thank you, sir, but…" he faltered, his eyes tracking over in the direction of the bathroom where Kurt was currently showering. "Isn't that kind of up to Kurt?"

"Of course. I just wanted you to know that I won't fight it should you guys decide to be more than friends." He drank deeply from his mug, nearly draining it in the process. This was awkward. Blaine was quiet. His coffee was starting to grow cold. He sipped at it unenthusiastically.

Burt waved his mug in Blaine's direction. "Need a refill?"

"Uh, no. No thank you." He smiled a little. "I'm good."

Burt rose from his seat and headed back over to the coffee maker for another cup. "The doctors are thinking it's some form of bipolar. That Kurt had some sort of psychotic break." He was looking out the little window above the sink, gaze lost and distant. "The meds seem to be working, though."

"Oh." Blaine sipped at his coffee as Burt moved back around to his seat. It was too quiet. The water had stopped running. "So he'll be okay?"

"They think so, but he has to go in for therapy, and they want us to monitor him for the next couple of days. Keep an eye on his behavior, let them know if there's anything strange. To see how well everything works out." His chair creaked a little with his weight.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you should know." His eyes were once again fixated on Blaine. "Kurt trusts you, and so should I. He asked me to talk to you. He's not-" His voice caught and he took a moment to clear his throat. "He's not ready to talk to anyone just yet. You're a good kid, Blaine. I trust you to keep him safe."

Blaine said nothing in reply, just sipped silently at his coffee, letting the silence settle over them like a blanket. They could get through this. Kurt was getting better. Everything would be okay.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's notes: Sorry for the wait. This took me longer than it should have because I kind of wrote myself into a corner and I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get to the next scene. I found a way eventually. Sorry this part is kind of short and not particularly exciting. Hopefully the next one will be better. School and work have started up for me again, so it's kind of up in the air as to when I'll have the next part up.

* * *

"Is Jo coming home then?"

"Huh?"

Kurt smiled at Blaine, his eyes lit with mirth at the other boy's distraction. "Joanna. Your sister. Is she coming home? You mentioned the possibility a while back and you've been distracted all day. So, is she?"

They were sitting on the floor in Blaine's room, simply enjoying each other's company. The bright afternoon sunlight peeked in through the curtains, and fresh summer air breezed over them from the open window. Blaine had taken Pavarotti out of his cage, and the bird entertained himself by hopping around Kurt's outstretched legs and Blaine's crossed ones. He twittered happily as he bounced back and forth between the two boys, not quite content to remain with one or the other for very long. Blaine picked up the little yellow bird in his palm and stroked his head with a finger, calming him momentarily.

"Yeah. She called last night. Said she'd be home in fours days." He turned to Kurt, a wide smile spread across his face. "Four days, Kurt. And she told me that she managed to snag two whole weeks vacation off this go around. You might actually get to meet her this time."

Kurt smiled back, though his eyes were heavy-lidded with impending sleep that lurked just behind the forefront of his mind. The warm air and lazy atmosphere were making him even more tired than he'd originally thought. "If she's even close to some of the stories you tell, she must be a goddess," he murmured quietly with a grin.

"You shouldn't say things like that around her. It'll go straight to her head, and there isn't a needle in the world large enough to burst her ego once its been inflated."

Kurt chuckled a little at that and slumped back against the solid wood frame of Blaine's bed. God, he was tired.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" Pavarotti was back on the floor again, having escaped from Blaine's grasp; he was pecking lightly in curiosity at one of Blaine's discarded socks.

"Yeah, just tired."

Blaine sat quietly for a moment, just watching the bird as he picked at a loose thread he'd found near the sock's toe. Things had been fine, if maybe a little weird at times, but Kurt seemed to be coming back into his old self these past couple of weeks. Blaine had noticed a few things here and there, like Kurt's attention wandering a little or the habit he now had of touching his ear when he thought no one was looking, but he chalked it up to his own over-attentiveness and possibly quirks that he had somehow missed before. It wasn't as though he and Kurt had been around each other constantly at school; there were things he could have missed, could easily have missed. And there were always the side effects from his medication (which, if he admitted it to himself, Blaine didn't really know much of anything about, but still). It was nothing he needed to fret over. Burt had trusted him to watch out for his son, and Blaine took this job very seriously. He'd know if something was wrong, and Kurt was fine.

He reached over and grasped the end of the sock in his fingers and began to slowly pull it toward him, letting the toe drag along the floor. Pavarotti fluttered after it, intent on gaining back the string he'd been so invested in. Blaine would have smiled and laughed and teased the bird a bit more, but Kurt had gone completely silent. The room was too quiet. It was unnerving. He looked at his companion, the sock slowing in its mild trek across the carpet as his attention shifted.

Kurt looked pretty exhausted. His face had gone somewhat pale and his gaze was focused on something just beyond the window. Those blue eyes looked darker than Blaine remembered, and they were fixated on one spot, never moving, never shifting. He looked toward the window to see what Kurt was looking at. There was nothing but blue sky above and the familiar houses and trees of his neighborhood lining the street below. He couldn't see a cloud, or a passing bird or even a neighbor out for a stroll with their dog, even though it was a particularly nice day out. There was nothing but the empty street. Perhaps Kurt was just lost in thought. He looked back at Kurt and noted the boy's posture. His back was pressed firmly against the side of the bed, his hands holding him upright, and Blaine wondered how long it would take before he gave in and slumped over onto his shoulder. He pictured Kurt's sleeping face pressed against the soft grey fabric of his t-shirt. The thought wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"You sure you're okay? I can take you home if you need me to."

Kurt stirred a little. "Hmm? No, I'll be fine," he yawned. "Sorry. What time is it?"

Blaine glanced over to the clock hanging on his wall. "It's a little after two." He looked back at Kurt and saw him fighting to stay awake. "Let me take you home, Kurt. It's a bit of a drive, and I promised to have you home by dinner. This way you can get in a nap in the car." He plucked Pavarotti from the floor and sighed at the new array of little yellow feathers stuck in the fibers of the carpet. He shook his head and placed the canary back in his cage before reaching a hand out to Kurt, who hadn't yet moved from his place on the floor. "C'mon. I'll take you home."

Kurt smiled sleepily at him and took his hand, pulling himself from the floor. He overbalanced a bit and stumbled, catching himself on Blaine's elbow. "Sorry," he whispered as he steadied himself and straightened.

"Don't worry about it. You know, if I could, I think I would have you fall into my arms everyday."

"Oh? Is that so?"

Warmth bled into Blaine's cheeks. In hindsight, that had beena bit forward of him. He needed to remember to tone it down in the future. Kurt had enough on his plate at the moment. He coughed lightly to clear his throat and attempt in vain to hide his growing blush. Stupid Kurt, ruining his composure. This used to be so simple. "We should probably, um, we should go."

"Lead the way, Mr. Anderson. After all, you're the one driving."


	18. Chapter 18

Finn lived for summer vacation. There was nothing better than getting up late, making out with Rachel and having nearly endless video game tournaments with the guys. And then there was coming home to family dinners and bickering with Kurt over movies. Yeah, life was pretty sweet.

The soft scratching tones of his phone filtered over to him from the backseat as he turned the corner into his neighborhood. People always called him when he was driving. It was like they had some sort of extra sense that somehow knew when he was behind the wheel. He couldn't reach the thing without pulling over, and he was _so close _to home. He ignored it and let it go to voicemail. Whomever it was, they could wait.

He carefully avoided the Navigator as he pulled into the driveway. He'd door-checked it once when Kurt had been home for the weekend and Kurt had flipped even though the car had no damage to it whatsoever. Finn kept his distance from it now, afraid of what Kurt might do to him if he hurt his 'baby.' Its presence meant that Kurt was probably home, which was a bit unusual nowadays. He was out with Blaine more often than not. Huh. He pulled into the garage and let the dark of its interior wash over him as the door shut. He loved Rachel, he really did, but she needed to learn the benefits of silence. It was calming, soothing even, after listening to her babble for an hour and a half. And while they were watching a movie too. Some girly romance thing, but still; it was hard to choose which to ignore more: Rachel or the movie she had chosen for them to watch that afternoon. Rachel was cool, but talked a lot about stuff he didn't care about and her movie choices were sorely lacking. His brain could only work so fast, and it was summer vacation. He shouldn't have to think so much.

He turned the car off, unbuckled his seatbelt and reached around into the back for his phone. The screen proudly declared that he had one missed call. He flipped open the device to see who. Mercedes. Huh. That was weird. She never called him. He punched in her number and climbed out of the car, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans. It barely rang once before she picked up.

"Finn! I just tried calling you. Why don't you ever answer your phone, boy?"

"Um, well, I was kind of driving and-"

"Whatever. It's cool. Anyway, I was actually looking for Kurt, but his phone is off or something. It keeps putting me straight through to voicemail. Are you home?"

That was odd. Burt had bought Kurt a new phone after they'd finally found the remains of his old one, smashed into tiny bits of plastic and warped metal lying next to the scissors Kurt had tried to gut him with under one of the beds in the basement. And they'd only looked there because Finn had found more of those little paper eyes stuck in the carpet and figured they should probably vacuum there one more time, and under the bed for good measure. This new phone had been nowhere near as fancy as his old one, but it sent and received calls and texts, which was all he needed, really.

"Uh, yeah. Actually I just got home. Want me to see if he's here?"

"That would be awesome if you could. I've been trying to reach the boy all day. We're supposed to meet up tomorrow, but I need to change the time. Can you see if he's home and then give me a call back?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." And she hung up before he could get another word in. He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the screen, not quite sure what to do. _Look for Kurt, I suppose_, he thought as he made his way into the house.

* * *

Blaine couldn't quell the furious beating of his heart as he helped Kurt into the car. He didn't know why he was so nervous, but he couldn't seem to calm himself down. Maybe it was the casual flirting. Maybe it was the odd feeling of apprehension creeping into the back of his mind. Maybe it was nothing. Whatever it was, he needed to calm down. He shook his head and breathed in deep. _Focus, Blaine. You need to pay attention or you're going to crash the damn car. Relax. Nothing is wrong. You're fine. Just focus._

Kurt was quiet, staring sleepily out the passenger-side window until about five minutes into the drive. He fingered his right ear, elbow resting on the door, eyes vacant until he suddenly shot up straight in his seat. He plunged his hands into his pockets and shuffled around, looking for something. Blaine glanced over at him, eyes bouncing back and forth from the road to the boy beside him.

"Kurt, are you-"

"We need to go back."

"What?"

Kurt turned to look at him. His eyes were wide and his expression oddly empty. "Your house. Blaine, I think I left my phone at your house. We need to go back."

"Sure. That's not a problem, Kurt." Blaine smiled disarmingly at his companion, but Kurt didn't respond. He just stared at Blaine as though he hadn't said anything at all. Blaine turned his attention back to the road. "We're only a few minutes out, anyway." He slowed and pulled over into a neighborhood to turn around. "Do you remember where you might have left it?"

Kurt was quiet as Blaine turned back toward his house. "Kurt?"

"Your room," he murmured. "Yeah, I think I left in your room. Must have fallen out of my pocket or something."

"Okay. Yeah, it's probably there. We didn't really go much of anywhere else, did we?"

Kurt smiled and chuckled weakly, but it made Blaine somewhat uncomfortable. "No, no we didn't, did we?"

Blaine smiled back, but his heart wasn't in it. This was getting too close to how Kurt had been acting at school, but not quite enough for him to panic just yet. Didn't mean it sat well with him, but he could let this slide. _Just a lapse. Just a lapse. He's fine. Everything's fine. It's just a lapse. He's just tired. Nothing's wrong. He's fine. You're fine. Everything's fine.

* * *

_

The downstairs was empty, quiet, and still when Finn entered the house, but he faintly heard someone moving around upstairs. "Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone here?"

His mom appeared at the top of the stairs. He'd forgotten she worked the evening shift tonight, giving him free use of the car until three. He had probably woken her up. "Finn? Is that you, honey? What's going on?" She appeared at the top of the stairs looking confused and a tad worried. She was wearing one of her old t-shirts and a pair of what he recognized as her sleep pants; she was moving a bit sluggishly and her hair was kind of mussed. He felt a pang of guilt wash over him. She must have been taking a nap.

"Sorry, mom. Were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you up."

She smiled sweetly at him. "It's okay, Finn. I've still got some time left before I have to leave, but I thought I told you yesterday that Sarah needed to switch shifts with me. What's going on? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I was just wondering if you knew where Kurt was. Mercedes called me looking for him. She said his phone's off or something."

She frowned. "That's strange. I know he's got it with him—I saw him with it this morning." She yawned and shook her head to wake herself up a bit. "You can check around and see if he's here. He might be in the basement."

"Yeah, I was going to look there next. Sorry to wake you up."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine. Do you mind if I head back?" She jerked her hand in the direction of her bedroom. "I've got a few hours left on the clock before I head out."

"Yeah, go. Go on ahead. Sleep well," he called, grinning as she shuffled away from the stairs.

He headed toward the basement and opened the door. It was dark and quiet. Everything was still. "Kurt? Are you down here?" There was no response. He flicked on the lights and looked around. Everything was just as he remembered it being that morning. Kurt's bed was neatly made and his own was a tangled wreck of sheets and blankets. So Kurt was out. He wandered over to Kurt's side of the room and stared at the scattered items there. He and Kurt really were an odd pair, living in a room like this.

He passed the vanity and smirked at the copious amounts of skin and hair care products lined neatly across its white surface. Then his eye caught sight of the little blue pill box Burt had given Kurt after his episode. He remembered it because Burt had insisted on its presence upstairs for the first couple of days so he could be sure Kurt was taking his medication. He'd allowed Kurt to keep it in their room after a while, but something was off. He looked close at the box and frowned in confusion. It was Thursday. But Kurt's pill box was completely full. Finn knew for a fact that Kurt refilled it on Sundays. He opened up each one of the tabs. Pop, pop, pop. One by one. The pills stared back at him, accusing, condemning him for not noticing. Oh god.

He flipped open his phone and fumbled with the buttons, trying desperately to dial despite his trembling fingers.

"Hello?"

"Burt. I need you to tell me where Kurt is. It's an emergency."

* * *

Author's notes: The plot thickens. And typos suck.


	19. Chapter 19

"Are you all right, Kurt?"

"I'm fine."

Blaine frowned and steered the car onto the familiar streets of his neighborhood. Kurt was still messing with his ear, like an insect had crawled inside it or something. His hair was even starting to get mussed on the one side, and it was starting to worry Blaine. Probably more than it should, but still, this was Kurt. "Are you sure? Because you keep fiddling with your ear like it's bugging—"

"I said I feel fine!" Kurt snapped. He slumped in his seat and stared out the windshield, eyes fixed on the scenery melting past. His right hand was cupped around his ear like a shell, and his body was wound so tight with tension that Blaine feared it would snap, just like a rubber band stretched past its limits.

Blaine could feel his own frantic heartbeat thrumming fast and hard in his chest. He didn't understand it. Kurt had been fine today. A little tired, maybe, and perhaps a bit distant at times, but everybody got like that now and again. There had been nothing to suggest him being anything other than perfectly normal, if maybe a little stressed. But this—the way Kurt was acting now—was definitely _not_ normal, and yet Blaine hesitated. There wasn't anything really wrong with Kurt. Well, nothing that couldn't be fixed anyway. That's what all those doctor visits and his pharmacy's worth of medication were for, right? To make him better? To patch up all the crazy? To fill in all those holes and turn him back into the boy he knew? He swallowed and glanced briefly at his passenger. Kurt's knee was bouncing up and down like a piston, and he seemed fully alert now. The boy was anxious. Maybe he was afraid of his dad's reaction when he found out Kurt's phone was missing again. Yeah, that could be it. He pulled into the driveway and the car shuddered as it powered down.

He sat still for a moment before unbuckling his seatbelt and making his way out of the car. "Okay, we're here. Let's go see if we can find your phone." Kurt was a little slower in getting out of the car; he clutched the car door like a life line before bolting over to Blaine's side. Blaine was wary, but said nothing. Kurt was fine, just a little jittery. They walked inside the house, and as they entered the front door, Blaine's mother looked up from her place at the table. Her hands gently lowered the book she had been so absorbed in before the boys' entrance.

"Blaine? I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon. Oh, and hello again, Kurt. You boys forget something?"

"Yeah. Kurt can't find his phone. We're just going to go check upstairs and see if we can find it."

She nodded and smiled at Kurt and her son. Kurt didn't react, just hung close to Blaine, his eyes wide and empty. It was unnerving, but Blaine didn't say a thing. His mom didn't know anything about Kurt's freak-out at the beginning of the summer, and Blaine was determined to keep it that way. He wasn't quite sure how she would take it if he told her Kurt might be going through a bout of insanity right now. But then, he wasn't entirely sure just what was going on with Kurt right now. It was probably nothing. He'd be back to normal in a few minutes. Right now they needed to find his phone.

He led Kurt up the stairs, not bothering to take off his shoes. He'd vacuum for his mother later if she got upset about the whole shoes on the carpet thing. At the moment he was far more concerned with getting Kurt home as fast as he possibly could than he was with a dirty rug. Pavarotti was jumping about in his cage when they entered his room, twittering madly as he bounced from perch to perch. Kurt stared at the bird, and Blaine steered him over toward the desk.

"Where do you think you might have left it?"

Kurt was quiet for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the bird cage. "I don't know. Maybe near the bed."

Blaine moved over toward the bed and crouched low to the floor; he even peered under the bed and groped around to see if he could feel anything remotely phone-like. "I don't see it. Are you sure you left it up here?"

"No. I'm not really sure where it is." He paused and looked around the room, his face twisted in confusion. "Could you try calling it?"

Blaine pulled his own phone out of his pocket. "Yeah, I could do that." He punched in Kurt's number and waited for a ring. It never came. Instead he was greeted with Kurt's bored voice telling him to leave a message at the tone. Damn. He swiftly ended the call. "I don't think it's on. It went straight to voicemail."

Kurt nodded and swept his eyes over the room again. "Do you think it might be somewhere else, then?"

Blaine thought about it. It was entirely possible that it had been left or fallen somewhere else. "It's possible. Do you want to keep looking around up here while I look downstairs? We were down there for lunch."

"Yeah. Yeah, that might be best."

"Okay. Just give a shout if you find it. I'll be right back." _I can trust you for a few minutes alone, can't I Kurt? Of course I can. Because nothing's wrong. You're fine. I'm just overreacting. You're perfectly fine. Everything's fine._

The trek down the stairs had never felt so long before. The carpeted steps seemed so foreign all of a sudden. He wasn't sure why he felt this way, but it was twisting painfully in his gut. He ignored it. Kurt was fine. He was looking too much into this. Everything was fine.

His shoes tapped lightly with each step as he walked into the kitchen. He and Kurt had stood around in here not two hours ago, chatting and eating his sloppy attempt at sandwiches. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on the dark shape of Kurt's phone resting on the counter. So he'd left it here. No problem. He started for it when his own phone went off. He startled at the sound and dug frantically in his pocket to see who was calling. The blue screen danced in front of his vision. Finn? Why the heck would he be calling? He quickly accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Blaine! Where is Kurt? You've gotta tell me where he is right now." He was breathless, his quiet panting obscuring every other word.

"What? I'm sorry, Finn, I'm having trouble understanding you. Are you okay? You said you're looking for Kurt? Is that it?"

He could hear the other boy draw in a few gulps of air before he spoke again. "Sorry. Blaine, my mom said that Kurt was with you. Is he?"

"Yeah." Blaine walked over to Kurt's phone and pocketed it. He turned and made his way out of the kitchen, heading back toward the stairs. "I was just about to take him home, actually. Is something wrong?"

"Has he been acting weird?"

"Weird how?" He turned the landing, his shoes shuffling softly against the white carpet.

"Just off. Anything that might seem off to you."

"Well, he was kind of tired, I guess. Maybe a little agitated, but nothing serious." His heart was pounding now, his head trying desperately to ignore the logic that was staring him straight in the face. He stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the banister. "What's going on, Finn?"

"It's Kurt. I don't think he's been taking his medication."

Just then, Blaine heard a loud thud at the end of the hallway and his heart stopped dead. Oh god.

"Blaine? Blaine are you there?"

"I'll call you back," he breathed into the phone before sprinting down the hall to his room. Oh god, _oh god_. Kurt hadn't been taking his meds. Kurt might be having a meltdown. _He'd left Kurt alone._ Oh god, _oh god,** oh god**._ How could he have been so _stupid_?

* * *

Author's notes: If you thought you hated my cliffhangers before...Oh, and just as an aside, thanks for all of the reviews, guys. I know I've said it before, but they're very encouraging. I wasn't expecting such a positive response to the last chapter. I hope y'all continue to enjoy this.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's notes: Okay, so I can't sleep (it's almost 4:30 in the morning for me as I type this D: ) so I'm uploading the next chapter. More soon to come, and I'll try to cut down on the cliffhangers. I only use 'em to keep myself interested in what I'm writing. I don't know what that says about me, but who cares? On to fic.

* * *

It was only Finn's grip on his shirt that kept Burt Hummel from punching Blaine as he stormed into the waiting room of the hospital.

"Where is he? Where the hell is my son?"

Blaine had gone completely white at the sight of an enraged Burt Hummel. He had just wanted a quiet day with Kurt. Nothing more. Instead he got a face full of crazy with a heaping helping of furious parent to go on top. Lovely. People were starting to stare at the red-faced man who'd just stormed into the room. Probably not a good sign. Finn pulled Mr. Hummel back and tried to calm him down.

"Burt, why don't you go up to the front desk and see if you can get anything from them. Pushing Blaine around isn't gonna do anything except get you kicked out of here, and you can't help Kurt if you're stuck outside."

Burt sucked in a great lungful of air to calm himself. "Okay," he breathed but turned back on Blaine, shoving an accusing finger in his face. "Okay, but when I get back I expect some answers out of you."

Blaine swallowed and nodded. This was all his fault. Why hadn't he noticed Kurt acting strange? _But you did, Blaine. Don't deny it. You noticed his odd behavior. You just didn't do anything about it. _He watched Burt stalk away toward the desk. Finn stood in place for a moment, watching him go, before sitting across from Blaine's hunched figure on one of the hard plastic chairs of the waiting room.

"What happened, man?"

Blaine glanced up at him and then quickly looked back down. Somehow Finn's soft question and that tired, worried look in his eyes made him feel so much worse, and he longed for Burt to come back and shove him around, punch him until the pain in his face overwhelmed the crushing fear in his chest.

He must look a mess. And his mom—he really wanted his mom to come back right about now. How long did it take to run home and grab him a change of clothes? His fingers gripped the hem of his t-shirt and he felt the familiar sting of tears rise to his eyes at the smears of red streaked across the fabric. If only he'd had time to change before being swept away by his mother into the car as the ambulance sped away before them. He could still see the red on his hands too, though they had been clean for over an hour now. It was still there. He could see it, smell it. It hadn't washed off very well.

He twisted the white cotton more firmly over his fingertips, trying in vain to ignore the stains. Maybe without the hard evidence of the whole incident, he wouldn't feel so bad right now. But it didn't matter in the end, did it? He'd had all of the warning signs. He'd noticed Kurt acting strange, what with the odd distance and the constant tugging at his ears. He'd had the opportunity to say something, _do something_, about it all, but he hadn't done a damn thing, hoping he was seeing too much into things, that he was overreacting. He hadn't wanted to treat Kurt any differently than before, and in doing so had let too many things slip 'd really messed up big this time.

Finn didn't like the other kid's silence, but said nothing. He remembered how shaken he'd been at Kurt's outburst in the basement, and he could only imagine what this mess was doing to the guy sitting there in front of him. He sighed and took a good hard look at Blaine. The guy was freaked, that was for sure. His skin was pale and clammy, and he kept blinking like he was trying to clear something out of his eyes. They were kind of bloodshot too, if he thought about it. Maybe he'd been crying or something. Wouldn't be surprising. Finn might have done that himself if a friend had gone all psycho on him while they were hanging out. He noticed the way Blaine's hands kept twisting themselves in his shirt like he was trying to wring water out of it or something. And was that-?

"Blaine, what is that on your shirt?"

Blaine didn't answer, instead just kept wringing his hands in that nervous way that made Finn's throat squeeze shut and his stomach drop down into his shoes. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. They'd been kept in the dark for the better part of two hours and if what was seeped into the fibers of Blaine's shirt was what he thought it was, then this was far more serious than he'd imagined. Finn needed answers. Now.

"Is that blood?" he whispered.

The boy was silent, still. His hands momentarily stopped their frantic motion. Finn could hardly breathe. He repeated his question, his voice shakier than before. Perhaps Blaine had misheard him.

"Is that blood?"

He hadn't expected the silent nod of confirmation. Finn couldn't feel his heartbeat anymore. He couldn't hear a thing. The entire world had gone still, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from those reddish smears painting the boy's chest. _Blood. That was blood. Oh god, whose blood was that?_

"Blaine, what happened to Kurt?"

Blaine looked up at Finn, his hands finally coming to rest, though his fingers were still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he spoke, leaving behind little trails of color on his cheeks. His voice was quiet and full of desperation. "I messed up, Finn. I messed up, and I don't know how to fix it."

Finn didn't know quite how to react to that. What did he mean, 'he messed up?' Did he know something? What was Blaine not telling him? He stayed quiet and waited for Blaine to elaborate. He could be patient when he needed to. He had time.

Blaine swallowed and tried to calm himself down. Panicking would do him no good at this point, and Finn was waiting for him to continue. He had to do this. He was the only one who knew what had happened. Finn's voice brought him back to reality.

"Listen, man, I don't know what you saw, but you need to tell me. I'm going to give you a sec because you still look kind of freaked and I should probably go check up on Burt, but you've gotta tell me what happened. I'm sure the docs already know part of it, but Kurt's dad needs to know, dude. You can't keep him in the dark. Not for something like this." He stood and grasped Blaine's shoulder firmly in his palm. Blaine could feel the minute tremors running through Finn's hand and he stared up at him in confusion. The boy was just as scared as he was, and yet he seemed so damn strong.

Blaine rubbed away the wetness on his face with his wrists. "Okay," he whispered. "I-I'll see you when you get back. I'll tell you everything."

Finn just nodded and walked over to Burt, who was deep in conversation with what looked like a nurse. Blaine slumped back in his chair with a deep sigh. He could feel more tears trying to make their way down his face and he wiped at them half-heartedly. He had never wanted to go home so badly in his life, but he was stuck here, in this hospital, waiting for news on his crazy almost-boyfriend with a raging over-protective father and all-too-knowing stepbrother. He wanted his mom to come back and make everything better. He wanted his dad to squeeze his shoulder and tell him everything was going to be okay. He wanted his sister, with her bright eyes and warm smile, to help him get through this. He wanted Kurt back—not this crazy person who'd taken up residence in his body. But more than anything else, Blaine just wanted to go home. To forget this whole thing ever happened and leave it at that. He wanted this whole thing to just be a freaking nightmare that he had yet to wake up from. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to talk to Finn and tell him how Kurt had lost it. He didn't want them to know that he had left Kurt alone when he knew something was up.

He blinked back more tears and watched the speckled ceiling tiles above him, hoping that maybe they held the answers he so desperately needed, but it was not use. He was on his own on this one. He just wanted to go home.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's notes: Next part should be up sometime tomorrow. Thanks for all of the positive feedback, guys. You all are awesome.

* * *

"Here you are, darling." A bundle of fabric was shoved into his hands. Blaine looked up at the tired face of his mother. The look she gave him said that he had a lot of explaining to do. She never liked to be kept in the dark.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly far to full of saliva. He wondered absently if she could see the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. "Thanks," he murmured, quietly moving to his feet.

"I called your father," she told him softly.

"I figured as much."

"You've been keeping things from us, Blaine. I expect some answers once things settle down." She laid a hand on his face, her expression hard, but her touch gentle. He could see the hurt in her eyes. She thought he didn't trust them anymore. It made his throat tight and his eyes sting once more. He hadn't cried in front of her since before his transfer to Dalton three years ago. He nodded, the movement imperceptible if not for her hand resting on his cheek.

"Okay," he agreed, his voice rough and tired. She gave a half-hearted smile and released him. His gaze tracked over to where Finn was standing with Burt, still locked in conversation with the nurse from before. He wondered just what they were talking about, if they were getting any updates on Kurt's condition. He turned back to his mother, who had followed his line of sight to the gathered men. "That's Kurt's dad and stepbrother. You might need to talk to them, since you were the one who called the ambulance and all."

She nodded and gave him one last look. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I should…I should go get dressed."

"Okay, honey. I'll be here when you get back." And she walked away, her shoes tapping against the smooth floor with every step.

He breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. It wasn't doing him much good. _Get dressed_, he told himself, _get changed. You can deal with the rest later. _ Blaine headed over to the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hallway and pushed open the one with the little black figure of a man etched in the front.

It was odd walking in here. The bathroom was so quiet and still compared to the rest of the building, though just as sanitized (if not more so) as every other corner of this abysmal place. He pushed open the door to the closest stall and flicked the lock into place. He didn't need to do that, but it made him feel safer, more secure, knowing that he was surrounded by four solid walls, even if there was that large gap between the bottom of the stall door and the smooth tiles of the bathroom floor.

He set the clean shirt atop the toilet paper dispenser and carefully removed his now ruined t-shirt. He stared at the white bundle of fabric in his hands. It was tainted now, and he'd never be able to wash out those stains. His fingers wound ever tighter in the red speckled folds. He should throw the thing away. It was ruined. It only held bad memories now, and it wasn't like he'd particularly liked the shirt anyway.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He turned the shirt out and folded it neatly into a square. He was such a coward. He couldn't even bring himself to get rid of a stupid shirt. He hastily pulled on the clean one his mother had brought—some old thing from the back of his closet that he thought he'd given away years ago—and removed himself from the safety of his stall, his old, bloodstained shirt clutched to his chest like some kind of macabre memento. He needed to remember this. Without bothering to so much as glance at his reflection in the mirror—he already knew he looked horrible; he really didn't need a physical reminder of that fact—he fled the bathroom, eager to talk to Finn and get this whole mess over with.

He hadn't expected to step into a war zone.

His mother and Kurt's father were in the midst of a heated argument growing steadily louder with each passing comment, and Finn was doing his absolute best to keep the peace before one or both of them got thrown off the premises. Blaine felt his heart drop into his stomach. As if this day couldn't get any better.

He rushed over to the spitting pair and listened on the periphery of the argument as they traded insults back and forth. Finn noticed his presence and shot him a worried look. He was just as lost as Blaine. Just before the two started shouting at each other again, Finn intervened, stepping between the two, a hand placed firmly on their collarbones, keeping them a safe distance apart.

"Look," he said, his face set with determination, "I'm not entirely sure what the deal is, but everyone needs to calm the hell down." He turned pointedly to his stepfather. "Burt, why don't you go outside for a minute, clear your head. I know this whole thing has got you pretty messed up, but you're not going to do Kurt any good if you come to blows with his friend's mom." He then looked to the woman in question, blushing a little as he lifted his hand from her chest and brought it to his side. "And, um, ma'am, Mrs. Anderson, you might want to go grab something to drink from the cafeteria. I can even lend you a few dollars if you're short on cash. I think it might help you calm down. Ma'am."

She stepped back in a huff and glared at Finn. Who was this boy to tell her what to do? She noticed her son standing just off to the side, his dirty t-shirt pressed tight to his chest. She stepped over to him and grabbed his elbow. "Come along, Blaine. We're leaving. Mr. Hummel can deal with his lunatic son on his own."

Blaine didn't budge. "Come on, Blaine. _We have to go_."

"I can't, mom."

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared dumbly at her son, her anger momentarily forgotten. "What did you just say?"

"I can't. I can't leave until I know Kurt's going to be okay." His voice grew fainter with each word, his nerve fading as he spoke. "I need to know he's okay."

Mrs. Anderson stared at her son for a minute, not quite sure of what to do. She wanted nothing more than to be gone form this place and that horrible man and his horrible, crazy children, but Blaine wanted, no _needed_, to stay. She sighed deeply, he face scrunched in a tight scowl. "Fine." She pulled him down close to her and spoke softly so that no one else would overhear. "But we are having a talk about this when we get home. Understood?"

"Yes'm," he murmured, and she released him, hitching her purse higher up on her shoulder and abandoning the group for the cafeteria.

"Insufferable woman," Burt growled at her retreating back. Blaine flinched, and Finn steered his stepfather in the direction of the door.

"Get some air, Burt. Even if it's only for a minute. You're far too wound up right now, and that's the last thing we need."

Burt nodded sharply and tilted the brim of his cap down. "I'll just be a minute, all right?"

"Yes," Finn sighed. "I'll run out and get you if they update us on Kurt."

Burt nodded once more and made his way to the door, satisfied that things were under control. Finn visibly deflated once both adults were gone, and when he looked over at Blaine, he looked far older and more tired than he had just moments ago. He gestured toward an empty tow of seats and slumped into the nearest chair with a sigh. Blaine quickly followed suit, and the two sat in relative silence until Finn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared Blaine straight in the Blaine.

"Okay, Blaine. I think it's time for you to spill. What happened with Kurt?"


	22. Chapter 22

Blaine didn't think he'd ever run so fast in his life. He could hear the thudding of his shoes against the carpet and was immensely grateful that he had decided to keep them on; he'd probably have fallen by now, slipped and crashed to the floor, had he been wearing only socks.

_Kurt hasn't been taking his medication. _The thought raced through his head like a bullet. _And I left him alone. Kurt hasn't been taking his medication, and I __**left him alone. **__Oh god, please let him be okay. Let this all be some big misunderstanding._

The door to his room was already open a tiny bit, and once he reached it, he swung it open with such force as to nearly rip it from its hinges. His panting breath hitched and stopped as he took in the scene before him.

Kurt was kneeling on the ground, his back facing the doorway; he hadn't heard Blaine's approach. He was humming softly to himself, picking at something on the floor Blaine couldn't see. Kurt's hunched back hid whatever it was from view, but it didn't matter, not really. Not when there were little blotches of red carpet where beige had been just minutes before. Not when there were tiny yellow feathers sticking out of said carpet, edges tinged with crimson, like morbid little monuments. The strong scent of iron filled his senses, and Blaine had to resist the urge to gag. The room was completely silent save for Kurt's minute shuffling and the breathy, hitching melody pulsing from his throat. He didn't hear the familiar fluttering of wings or chatter of birdsong that he had come to hold so dear. It was too quiet. Blaine's eyes tracked over to the bird cage. Oh god.

It was empty.

He didn't trust himself to speak, just stood there for a moment watching Kurt rock gently back and forth on his heels. Kurt's quiet melody—something familiar that he couldn't quite place—was circling around his brain. He couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. _He screwed his eyes shut and tried to draw in a lungful of air, but nothing was making its way through his blocked throat. _Just count to three and you'll wake up. This isn't happening, Blaine. This __**can't **__be happening. Just open your eyes and you'll see. It's just a bad dream. Nothing but a bad dream._

But nothing changed when he opened his eyes. It was just as bad as it had been. Kurt's attention was still fixated on the floor, though his gentle rocking had slowed to a halt. The humming had morphed into quiet, whispered singing. He recognized the song now, though Kurt stopped and started in random intervals, obscuring the melody and mumbling the words as he continued whatever he was doing on the floor.

_Blackbird singin' in the dead of night. Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life…you've been only waiting for this moment to be free._

_Blackbird, fly._

_Blackbird, fly._

Blaine watched as Kurt's left hand wandered up to the side of his head to tug at his hair, his ear, and Blaine felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Oh god, that was blood. Kurt's fingers were coated with blood, and they were now drawing macabre patterns across the side of his face. Over his cheek and…his ear.

"Kurt?" he breathed. His heart was refusing to beat. He couldn't hear a thing over the rushing in his ears. _This isn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Just a dream, just a dream. It's all a bad dream._

Kurt stilled and turned. His eyes were wide and staring, but the vacancy was gone, replaced with something Blaine couldn't identify. Blaine swallowed hard as Kurt's gaze landed on him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the boy's hands. They were red. So very red. The front of Kurt's beautiful blue shirt was spattered with blood. It was dotted across his face, sticking strands of his hair to his forehead, and his wrists were saturated with it. And was that a pen clenched tight in his fist?

"Kurt, what have you done?"

Kurt was silent, staring at him as though he'd just returned from a long trip. He smiled widely, nearly all of his white teeth showing, and Blaine felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Kurt rose to his feet, the bloody pen still clutched in his fingers. His shoes left behind red smears of half-formed footprints with every step.

"Blaine. You're back."

Blaine didn't say anything, didn't know what to say to the madman in front of him. He could feel his heartbeat again, but he didn't think it was supposed to go that fast.

Kurt grabbed the front of his shirt with his empty hand, fingertips painting the white fabric red with blood. Oh god, he couldn't do this. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"I got him, Blaine. He's gone. They can't bother us anymore."

Blaine laid his hand on Kurt's wrist and tried to pry himself as gently as he could from the boy's grip. "Who, Kurt? Who can't bother us anymore?" Just humor him. Stall. It might give him enough time to have his mom call the police, an ambulance, _somebody._

"Them. They can't bother us anymore." Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand, and Blaine felt something drop into his palm. Oh god. He looked down. He'd been right in his first assessment. It was a pen all right. One of the pens from the little metal cup he had on desk. Oh god.

Kurt was fiddling with his ear again, streaking his face with more and more red. "I killed most of them for you, but I don't think I got them all." He pointed over to the bloody mass near the wall that had once been a bird. Blaine was going to be sick. "There might be some left. You were always better at these things than me." His smile was wide and sincere, and Blaine couldn't breathe.

Blaine didn't know what Kurt meant by that, but he wasn't willing to argue at this point. "Okay. Okay, Kurt, but I need to do something first, okay? I just need to do something first." He started to move back, but Kurt grabbed the hem of his shirt once more and held firm.

"Like what?"

Blaine tried to loosen his grip. "Let me go, Kurt. I just need to do something real quick. I won't be gone long, I promise."

"Where are you going?" Kurt's empty hand moved to the inside of his ear, his fingers digging and scraping at the skin. His face was bunched tight with worry, and Blaine could see the tension building in the other boy's frame.

"Just downstairs. I need to talk to my mom real quick." He could see Kurt's eyebrows drawing together, and he wracked his brain fast for any story he could come up with. "My mom's even better than me at killing them, remember? She'd be able to find them in a heartbeat. She's so much better at this than me." He tried to move back once more, but Kurt's grip was firm, unyielding. "Just let me go get her, Kurt," he begged softly, his eyes darting back and forth from Kurt to the door. So close. So close and yet so very far away.

"You're lying."

Blaine's heart skipped a beat and then began to race once more. He didn't say anything, just stared at Kurt's blank face. Kurt's grip was growing tighter and stronger the longer the silence stretched on.

"You're lying."

Blaine rested his hands on Kurt's. "Just let me go get my mom, Kurt. She'll know what to do."

"You're lying. Why are you lying to me?" He released Blaine and ran his fingers through his hair. His bangs were all too red with blood and stuck up in the air like needles as Kurt's hands ruffled the strands even more out of place. "They got to you, didn't they? They tried to get me too, but I killed them, I swear. How could you let them do this to you?"

Kurt was growing more and more agitated as he spoke. He paced back and forth across the carpet, and Blaine was too scared to move, afraid of what Kurt might do if he fled.

Kurt suddenly stilled. Blaine felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Kurt moved toward the desk, and Blaine couldn't find the courage to stop him. _What was he doing? _The other boy grabbed one of the pens from the metal cup. "I'm going to help you, Blaine. I'll get rid of them for you. Pavarotti had them too, but I fixed him. I freed him, Blaine. I can free you too."

Blaine stood stock still for a beat before racing out of the room, grabbing the door handle and trapping Kurt in his room. He could hear Kurt screaming behind the solid wood barrier of the door, could hear the boy's fists pounding on the heavy surface.

He vaguely heard his mother's voice at the bottom of the stairs. "Blaine? Sweetheart, is everything okay?"

"Mom! Mom, I need you to help me. You've gotta call the police, or an ambulance, or somebody!" he screamed down at her, hot tears streaming down his face. _What had he done?_ "It's Kurt! Oh god, I need help!"

* * *

Author's notes: Ah, several of you saw that coming. Honestly, I felt bad for doing that to Pavarotti, even though I've had this planned for a while and in real life I'm terrified of birds. But hey, you guys get two chapters this update because I felt that leaving it off here after the other cliffhangers I've pulled lately would be kind of cruel. Enjoy, guys.


	23. Chapter 23

Finn sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking in Blaine's story. His voice was filled with deep resignation when he spoke. "So Kurt killed your bird?"

"Technically it was his bird, but yes. Yes, he did." Blaine refused to raise his head. He couldn't look Finn in the eye because he already knew the real question Finn wanted to ask: _Why had he left Kurt alone?_ He slumped low in his seat and palmed the shirt in his hands. He flinched as Finn began to speak once more, expecting sharp words and accusations.

"Wait, that's the bird you guys gave him when he joined the Warblers or whatever, right? I thought you said Kurt liked it—the bird, I mean."

Not what he'd been expecting. Blaine straightened a little against the hard plastic back of his chair. "He did, or well, he seemed to. I even gave Kurt a few of Pavarotti's feathers when he first got out of the hospital. I don't know what happened. He was perfectly fine. He just _snapped_."

Finn was quiet for a minute, carefully thinking over his words. He could see Burt passing by the window outside, and he wondered if the man had calmed any. He threaded his fingers together and stared hard at Blaine. "Did Kurt say anything to you? You know, like when he went all freaky on me in the basement about the eyes?" he asked, his voice low.

Blaine thought about it for a moment, trying to remember anything besides Kurt's desperate screams behind the closed door of his bedroom and the dull, frantic pounding on the wood at his back.

_They can't bother us anymore._

_I killed them for you, but I don't think I got them all._

_You're lying._

_**You're lying.**_

_They can't bother us anymore._

He swallowed. "Yeah, he kept talking about 'them.' I don't know what he meant by it, though." He shot a meaningful look at Finn. "Does it mean anything to you?"

Finn shook his head. "No." Just then, Burt walked back in through the door. Finn stood, and Blaine tried to do the same, but Finn urged him back down with a hand on his shoulder. "Let me talk to him. I don't want him to freak out on you again." He grinned down tiredly at him, but it wasn't comforting at all. Blaine glanced over at Burt and then back at Finn.

"You sure?"

"Not really, no. If this place wasn't so freakin' far away, I'd have gone home by now, and my mom would be here right now instead of me." He sighed and looked over to where his stepfather stood. The man was leaning against one wall, his gaze fixed on something just outside the window, brim of his cap pulled low over his brow. "You might want to go find your mom, dude. She was pretty pissed."

Blaine didn't say anything as Finn walked away. He should get up. Find his mom. Apologize. She'd already been far more supportive than he'd thought. But he hesitated. She was upset, and rightfully so. How often can you say that your son's friend had a mental breakdown in your home? He hated when she was upset. He sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. He really didn't want to do this. He hated making his mom unhappy, but it was a little late for that now, wasn't it?

He screwed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath for courage, and pushed himself up from his seat. Best to just get this over with.

The hall leading to the cafeteria was longer and quieter than he'd expected. It was strange, seeing any part of a hospital so still. The pervading quiet overwhelmed his brain, and his thoughts began to wander. He paused at what he supposed was the entrance to the cafeteria, if the large black letters screaming 'CAFETERIA' at him were to be trusted. He realized that he'd been humming to fill the spaces left in his mind by the silence of the hallway.

_Blackbird, fly._

He shook himself to clear his head and looked about the room. There were so few people here compared to the rest of the place, and the atmosphere was almost calm—that tension that hung so heavy in the other room was absent here. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was definitely less stressful and almost surreal. Blaine could hardly believe this was the same place where he'd been waiting for the past three hours.

His mother was seated alone at a table near the vending machines against the far wall. Her hands were curled around a bottle of water, her fingers screwing the cap on and off, on and off. She wasn't looking his way, just stared at the lavender walls and the few people milling about the room. He sighed. She shouldn't be here. This wasn't her problem, wasn't her mess to clean up. It was unfair of him to drag her into this.

He approached her table and sat down opposite her, placing the t-shirt in his hands on the smooth tabletop. Her green eyes wandered to him, and Blaine felt a twist of guilt at how haggard she looked. She didn't say anything, but the steady movement of her hands had stilled. She was waiting for him to speak.

He grasped her hands in his, praying the red and brown bloodstains he could still see on his fingertips would not transfer to the soft skin beneath his hands. He couldn't place any more of his mess into her hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She was quiet for a while, unresponsive, just staring at him with that deep green gaze of hers that stripped him bare and laid his very soul out for her to read like a book. "Is this why you disappeared?" Her voice was soft but firm, and he wasn't quite sure what she meant. His silence must have been telling and she elaborated. "All those weeks ago, when you disappeared and came back well after midnight. Has something like this happened before?"

Blaine didn't trust himself to speak. He merely nodded, desperately wishing she'd lace her fingers over his own and squeeze them in that comforting way of hers. But she never did. Her hands remained still around the ribbed plastic of the water bottle.

"Why?"

_Why. _There was so much she was saying behind that one simple word. _Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you trust me with this? Why are you still friends with this boy? This crazy person? Why did you associate with someone like him in the first place? Your father and I raised you better than that, didn't we?_

He released her hands and laid his own on the table. The silence hung between them like a curtain, and for the first time Blaine wasn't seeing his mother in the tired woman before him. There was a stranger sitting across from him on the other side of the table, and it hurt. She didn't understand, would never understand, why he couldn't give up on Kurt, and the realization twisted through him like a knife in his chest.

He loved Kurt. Loved him enough to try and accept whatever had taken over that wonderful, colorful, _beautiful_ boy he knew and turned him into the screaming, raging mess that was strapped somewhere in the psychiatric ward of this terrible, terrible place. Loved him enough to wait for the boy he knew to come back. Loved him enough to pretend nothing was wrong, even though that was what got him here in the first place, and he realized now that his mother would never understand that.

_Why?_

"I don't know," he whispered, half to her, half to no one at all. "I don't know."

* * *

Author's notes: Thanks for pointing out my typos, guys. I usually find 'em, but I've missed a few lately, and I'm immensely grateful to those who've found them and alerted me. If you happen to see any more of them (in this or any of my other stories), please feel free to PM me or whatever you do for this site and let me know. I'll love you forever because typos irritate me. :)


	24. Chapter 24

The drive home was very, very quiet. The silence seeped throughout the interior of the car from its disgruntled passengers to settle in the space between and cling to itself like snow, cold and thick and suffocating. As Blaine moved the car along the familiar streets leading toward home he secretly cast fleeting glances between his two passengers and the road. His mother was distant and cold, her arms crossed loosely in front of her chest, eyes lost on the passing scenery. Her mouth was nothing but a thin line against her pale skin. She was still upset. Finn, on the other hand, just looked tired. Really beat all to hell. He didn't speak either, was probably just grateful that he wouldn't have to make the drive back to Lima tonight.

Burt had opted to stay in Westerville for the night—he'd spend the night in one of the hospital lounges or propped up in one of those hard plastic chairs if he could, and if not, then he vowed to get a room in a motel or something. Blaine had offered him use of their guest room (though his mother had shot them hard, pointed looks the entire time), but he'd refused, saying that he didn't want to intrude, that it would be easier for him to be somewhere else should news on Kurt come in at some ungodly hour. Finn had just wanted to go home.

So they left Finn's car with Burt, and Blaine offered to take Finn back to Lima. Thankfully, his mother was okay with the deal, so long as Blaine remembered to refill the gas tank and drop her off first. She wasn't up for four more hours on the road. Not after what she'd already gone through today. He pulled into the driveway and placed the car into park, not bothering to turn it off. His mother unbuckled her seatbelt but paused before getting out of the car. She turned to Blaine, her hand resting on the door handle, not bothering to open it just yet. She leaned over toward him.

"I'll be waiting up for you when you get home, so no detours. We need to have a talk, you and I, understood?" Her voice was soft, but hard. No room for mercy there, but it would be difficult for Finn to hear her from his place in the backseat. She was still trying to hide her discomfort with this. She really didn't need to, though. It was pretty obvious.

He nodded, his gaze fixed forward on the growing shadows stretching across the paint of the closed garage door. "Understood."

"Good." She opened her door and carefully stepped out of the car. "Drive safe," she murmured softly to him, almost like an afterthought. "I'll see you when you get back."

The door slammed shut and Blaine slumped down into his seat as her retreating back disappeared behind the front door of the house. One thing down. Now he just needed to survive the drive to and from Lima and the talk with his mother. He laid his head down on the steering wheel, remembering the chaos in his room. He'd nearly forgotten about the bloody mess that was his carpet, his desk, his sheets. There were probably smears of blood on the stairs as well. He needed to clean that up too. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of blood and feathers now threatening to drown out his vision with a terrible haze of red. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. Maybe it would be best if he stayed in the living room for the night. It wasn't as if he was going to be getting any sleep tonight, anyway. Not after all that had happened.

"You okay, man?" Finn's sleepy voice wafted over to him from the backseat. Finn. He'd nearly forgotten about him. He needed to drive him home.

"Yeah," he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Do you want to move up to the front?"

"Naw, I'm good. I think I'm just gonna stretch out in the back and get some sleep, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, it's fine." He fell silent, still staring forward, the car still set firmly into park on the cold, empty driveway. "Hey, Finn?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you mind if I put on some music? It's kind of a long drive when you've got no one to talk to."

"Yeah, man, that's fine. Just as long as you don't sing along really loudly or off-key, I'm game."

Blaine leaned over across the seat and flicked open the glove compartment. This had once been his sister's car, and he'd yet to empty everything out of it. She hadn't taken her music with her when she'd moved across the country. CDs spilled from the open panel and tumbled to the carpeted mat on the car floor. Blaine cursed lightly under his breath and scrambled to pick of the scattered disks, straining against the pull of his seatbelt. He gathered as many as he could into the seat beside them and popped one into the player. Most of them were mixes, marked with black sharpie in the hasty, scribbled scrawl of his sister, the letters slanted, bulky and nearly illegible. Not that it mattered when every one of them was labeled something along the lines of "Mix #12."

He pulled out of the driveway as the first CD started up, his hand lingering near the radio dials, just in case. Jo usually had decent taste in music, but some of the things she liked were pretty obscure, and these were old and unmarked. Lord only knew what she had put on these stupid things all those years ago.

Still, it was probably safer than relying on the often sketchy signals of the radio to keep his mind from wandering back to the events of that afternoon during the long drive ahead of him.

Soft chords and beats wafted out of the speakers, and he felt himself relaxing. Finn would like this at least. It was quiet, soothing, and unfamiliar enough to keep Blaine awake. He hummed along, forming his own harmonies as he drove along the streets of Westerville, the newly lit streetlamps streaks and balls of yellow light as he passed.

_Visions of rain fall out of blue skies._

The car meandered along the side streets, slowly making its way to the highway. Blaine could hear Finn's heavy, even breathing under the swell of the music. He must've fallen asleep. Probably a good thing he wasn't driving home, then.

_Rivers of tears flow out of dry eyes._

Blaine didn't know what he was going to do from here. Kurt was very, very ill; there was no longer any question about that. He thought back to Finn's worried voice earlier that day, asking him—no, _begging _him—to tell him where Kurt was.

_I don't think he's been taking his medication._

So stupid. He should have known something was wrong. Kurt had been a little too quiet, a little too on edge, but he'd brushed it off as nothing. He should have done something. Should have told someone, but he hadn't wanted to believe Kurt was sick, that there was anything wrong. He knew this wasn't entirely his fault—after all, it had been _Kurt _who had stopped taking his medication, and no one else had said anything about his decline these past couple of days. He still wondered if Finn would blow up at him again once everything had quieted down, blame him for Kurt slipping. Probably.

_Answer my question; tell me no lies._

He thought back to the quiet afternoon spent lazing about in his room with Kurt and Pavarotti, chatting about nothing in particular as the bird flitted back and forth between them. He thought about the first time he'd met Kurt and how that seemed like a completely different universe to the one he was in now. He needed to stop kidding himself; that _was _a different time, a different world. People change. Kurt had changed.

But Blaine could bring him back. Even if it was only in part.

He just had to try.

_Is this the real world, or a fool's paradise?_

The road stretched ahead of him like a black ribbon wrapping around the darkening landscape.

He could fix this. He could bring Kurt back. He just needed to try.

* * *

Author's notes: And I'm back. Work and school have been eating my brain, leaving little time for fic. Oh, and if you want to hear the song mentioned in the end of this chapter (and where I got the title from), go here, without all of those spaces, of course: http: / / www. you tube. com/ watch? v=O XIeQ0VnUQo


	25. Chapter 25

Author's notes: Sorry for the delays. School is killing my muse. :( Oh, and I had Finn tell Blaine not to sing off-key in the last chapter because, well, think about it. It's Finn (think of him practicing with Rachel in season one and his terrible note sliding when she was testing his range). I can see Finn sitting alone in his car singing really loudly and out of tune to bad eighties songs when he thinks no one can hear him and just assumes everyone else does the same. Hope this reads okay.

_Edit: AUGH, typo city! Ignore them while I fix them. Thanks!

* * *

_

Blaine never had liked driving at night, especially when he was coming home alone. He always felt so empty when he pulled into the dark driveway, like he had done something wrong. Those little lights on the front of the house didn't help either. When he was little, he'd always imagined them to be the eyes of the house, watching him, accusing him of dreadful things left best unsaid. The mouth that was the garage was just waiting to shout out his secrets. He'd almost rather be stumbling around in the dark than face them right now.

The drive to Lima and back had been long and uneventful. His sister's endless collection of CDs had kept him awake in the absence of conversation, and the ones that weren't scratched all to hell hadn't been too bad. He'd keep them in mind for the next time he needed to make the long drive down.

Blaine climbed out of his car and locked the thing, taking his time to get to the front steps. The scuffed bottoms of his shoes scraped against the pavement as he walked, his feet dragging. His mother would be waiting for him—she always kept her word on things like that—but talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

These awkward talks always amounted to nothing. Tomorrow, things would be exactly as they had been today, except maybe a bit more tense. His mother would ignore what she didn't want to acknowledge, and Blaine would wander around frustrated until the silence between them finally wedged itself over the topic, covering it up like a bandage over an open, festering wound. As long as they didn't talk about it, the problem didn't exist. Out of sight, out of mind. But Blaine couldn't ignore this one. They couldn't just skirt around this until it shriveled up and went away. Not this time.

Because this time it wasn't about him coming out or the scribbled obscenities on his torn notebooks and backpack. This time it wasn't about him. This was about Kurt, and it was out of their control. It wouldn't be as easy as pretending the new boyfriend on the phone was really a girl or transferring him to another school because this time she had no power here. Kurt wasn't her son.

And because it was _Kurt_, Blaine was having trouble. He couldn't bear the thought of giving him up. Not now. Not after what he'd done. Not after all that had happened.

He reached the front door and dug around in his pocket for his keys. It didn't matter if his mother was awake or not, she always locked the door after eight. He wasn't sure why she did it, but it had always been that way. Just a quirk, he supposed. His fingers hit smooth plastic just behind the carved metal edges of his keys, and his heart stopped.

Kurt's phone. He'd forgotten about it in the commotion, hadn't remembered to give it to Finn or Burt. His hand closed around it; it was warm from being pressed against his thigh for so long. The front door swam in a blur of blue and white as tears filled his eyes. _Oh, Kurt._ So forgetful these days. Always losing his damn phone. He slowly pulled his keys from his pocket and shakily found his house key. It wouldn't in the lock. Wrong key. He flipped to the next one and gave it a try. The soft click of the tumbler falling into place reached his ears and he pushed forward; the door swung open with a quiet swoosh. The familiar creaking of the hinges was gone—his dad must have oiled them when he got home.

Yellow light spilled out from the living room, brightening the terrible little blood stains still decorating his jeans. He hadn't noticed them before, they were so small, and he'd been so distracted. It reminded him of the ruined shirt he'd left on the floor of the car. He should go back out and get it.

"Trip go okay?" His mother was sitting at the table. She wasn't looking at him, just stared straight ahead at the picture-laden wall before her. So many people. So many smiling faces. So many memories.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wooden frame, his hand still resting on the doorknob. "Yeah, it went fine."

"That's good," she murmured, taking a sip from the glass in front of her. Blaine sighed at the sight of the burgundy liquid sliding between her lips. Wine. She didn't pull out the wine unless she was upset. Or celebrating. Or both, on some odd occasions, like when he brought home his first boyfriend. He wondered how long she'd been drinking.

"Um, is dad home?"

"Yes. He's got an early morning tomorrow so he went to bed a little while ago." Another sip. He cringed back against the door frame. His mom always got strange when she drank—kind of angry and a little sad. This wasn't looking good for him.

She gestured with her empty hand to the chair across from her. "Sit down, Blaine."

He toed off his shoes and shuffled across the carpet to the table. He sat down and curled his feet under one another, watching the fabric of his socks stretch and contract with every move of his toes. It was hypnotic and so much easier than looking at his mother's empty face. The silence was overwhelming, far worse than when they'd been trapped in the car. It was suffocating.

He sucked in a deep breath of air. "What do you want from me, mom?"

Another drink. More wine. Always more wine. "Why, Blaine?"

He looked up. She still wasn't looking at him, still staring at the wall. "I'm not following you."

"Why him? Why not that nice boy, Jared or George or whatever that you brought home before?"

"That was Jordan, mom, and we broke up almost a year ago."

"Whatever. Why this one?"

"Kurt?"

"Yeah, him." More wine.

He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head against his curled fingers, against the bumpy ridges of his knuckles. "I don't know."

She snorted. Another sip. "That's not a good sign."

He slammed his palms flat on the table, the loud smack echoing off the walls, the table shuddering with his force. "What do you want from me, mom? Do you want me to say we're dating, 'cause we're not. Do you want me to say that I'm sleeping with him, and that's why I can't let him go? That he somehow got his claws into me and is trying to trap me the way you did with dad, except without the whole pregnancy deal? Is that it?"

"You watch your tongue, Blaine Aaron Anderson."

"_Well_? Is that it, mom? You don't want me to make your mistakes. I know you still want me to go off and marry some perfect little blonde girl and live in a house with a little white picket fence and two-point-three kids, but that's not gonna happen. _Ever._"

"I've accepted that, Blaine."

"I don't think you have."

"_Watch it_, mister. I've accepted your whole 'gay' thing, even if I don't particularly like it. I just don't see why you like _this_ boy."

"Because…" he started, but his voice failed him. Why _did_ he want Kurt? Because he was cute? Because Blaine felt guilty that his advice had only elevated Kurt's bullying problem? Because he felt responsible for him? Because he felt, somewhere deep down, that Kurt's insanity was somehow his fault?

"Is he really worth it, Blaine?" She still had her hand wrapped around the stem of her glass, but she didn't drink again. It didn't matter. The wine had done its job, judging by the choked sound in her throat, the red tint to her face.

"I saw what he did to your room, baby. Looked like a freakin' bloodbath in there." She drained the glass, setting it roughly back down on the table.

"Now tell me, is he worth it?"

Blaine gripped the edges of his seat and stared down at the floor. His body was tight and trembling with tension. He couldn't do this. He shouldn't have to explain himself. Especially not to his mother. His straining wrist bumped against his thigh, and he felt the curve of Kurt's phone inside the fabric of his pocket. He thought of Kurt's, his smile, his beautiful voice, and soulful blue eyes. It was Kurt. He was worth it.

"Yes, mom. He's worth it." And without another word he stood and walked away, leaving her alone with her wine, alone with her demons. He needed to get that bloody shirt from the car, prepare the guest bedroom, call Burt and let him know that Finn got home safely. Maybe get an update on Kurt.

Blaine opened the front door and stepped outside. He leaned against the solid blue surface until his legs gave out, and he curled against the welcome mat, face hot and wet with tears, shoulders convulsing with quiet sobs. He didn't know what he was going to do. He wasn't getting his mother's help. Not this time. Not with this. And it hurt. It hurt so bad he thought his heart might burst and shatter into a million little pieces.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?


	26. Chapter 26

Author's notes: Sorry, this one's a bit short. But hey, there's lots of dialogue. Dialogue is good, right? And David. David's there, too. More soon.

* * *

"Mnngh, hello?"

"David? Did I wake you up?"

"Blaine? What the hell, man. It's like, two in the morning."

"I know. I'm sorry. Can—I mean, are you—? Um…can I meet you?"

Blaine could hear David shuffling around on the other end of the line, his breath coming in and out over the speakers in a rush of white noise. "What's goin' on? Are you in trouble?"

"No. Not really. I guess. I just…I really need someone to talk to."

"At this time of night?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"So you decided to wake me up?"

"…yes?"

David sighed deeply, and Blaine felt a pang of regret run through his chest. He shouldn't be doing this, bringing David into his problems, but there was no one else he could turn to. "I could—I could wait. Until you're awake, I mean. It's kind of ridiculous for me to be calling you up at this time of night. I'll just, um…I'll wait. Could we meet later-"

"It's all right, man, but you owe me one. I'll meet you at the park in fifteen."

"Thanks. You're the best."

"I know," he yawned. "But you still owe me one."

* * *

The night was warm and quiet save for a few cars whizzing past on the dark neighborhood streets. It had been ages since David had been up in this area, but the place was comforting, familiar. He remembered coming here all the time as a little kid.

Blaine was already there when David arrived at the park. The boy was slumped in one of the old black rubber seats of the swings, his arms draped around the thick chains to hold him up. His shoed feet dragged in the grooves of the sand below him, digging up the darker, wetter, almost muddy sand beneath the top layer of dust. David sighed at the sight. The kid was a mess. He wondered what the heck had been bothering Blaine so much to have him call David to him at such an hour.

David crept up behind Blaine, grabbing one of the chains of his swing. "You okay?"

Blaine looked up, startled, his eyes wide. "Oh. David," he panted. "It's just you."

David plopped down into the swing beside him. "Who'd you think it was, man?"

"I don't know. Nobody. I'm just really distracted."

David rocked back, swinging lightly on his toes. "I can see that. So what's up? I haven't seen you in forever." He snorted, looking over at Blaine. "You've been avoiding my calls, ignoring my texts. And Wes is still in Colorado. It's not fair, you know, what you guys are doing. Leaving me all alone on my last summer before college."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I've been kind of busy."

"So I guessed." He looked over at Blaine. The boy was sullen, quiet, his head low over his shoulder. "What's eating you?"

"My mom. She doesn't want me to see Kurt anymore."

"Woah, woah, woah, since when are you two an item? I know you've been avoiding me, but _damn_. I thought we were friends, Blaine. You told me and Wes about all the other guys—a little too much sometimes—and I know Wes has been out of town and stuff, but why all the secrecy here? Kurt's a decent guy; there's nothing to hide, B."

"I'm not hiding anything." He gave David a pointed look. "And Kurt and I aren't dating."

"Mmhmm." He swung forward, his feet rising up into the air. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, David. I'm sure." Blaine sighed and looked up at the bar holding the swing set up. The sky was dark and clear above them. The scattered yellow lights of the streetlamps and houses were just bright enough to blot out most of the stars. It made him long for his grandfather's house out in the country. You could see the stars from there. No light pollution.

"Kurt's in the hospital, David."

"What?"

"Kurt's in the hospital."

"I know. I heard you. When? What happened? Is he okay?"

"This afternoon, I don't really want to talk about it, and I don't know."

"Wait, what? What do you mean by that?"

"He was with me this afternoon, and my mom had to call the ambulance to come get him. I'm…" He trailed off, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the swing's chain to calm himself down. "I'm kind of shaken up about it."

David raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty obvious. You look like crap."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence."

"Just telling it like it is." David kept swinging, letting the silence between them linger. "Is he okay?"

Blaine let out a gust of air through his nose. "I don't know. This isn't the first time it's happened, but I think he'll be okay. It's just—my mom…"

David slowed to a halt, the soles of his shoes scraping roughly against the sand below. "What about her?"

"I know she's just trying to protect me, but I can't do this, Dave. I can't give him up, you know?"

"Why would you have to?"

"Because she doesn't want me around him anymore. She can't stop me from seeing him, being his friend, but it hurts that she thinks that way about him." Blaine rocked back on his heels, and swung forward into the air, pumping his arms and legs to build up momentum. David pushed off to catch up with him.

"Then don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

David swung back and pushed himself forward, releasing the chains in his hands and launching himself into the air. He landed and fell to his knees with a soft thump. He smiled at Blaine as he stood, his teeth bright in the darkness. "Don't give him up. Kurt's a good kid, Blaine, and if he's sick enough to land his sorry little butt in the hospital—_twice_—then I think he could use the support, don't you?"

Blaine jumped from his swing, landing softly in the dirt. A small cloud of dust rose up around his feet to settle on the tops of his shoes. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Dude. I'm always right." He slapped Blaine on the shoulder, chuckling lightly. "Besides, I think you guys would make a cute couple."

Blaine smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a devilish grin. "You're a jerk."

"Yeah, but you know you love me."

Blaine just chuckled lightly, shuffling over to the chain link fence and leaning up against it. He laced his fingers around the wired diamond shapes, the metal digging into his skin with his weight. "I just don't know what to do anymore," he whispered into the air.

"You'll figure it out," David answered as he moved toward the entrance to the park. "You're good at this sort of thing."

Blaine didn't respond, just kept staring out into the night stretched out before him. He should get home, get some sleep. Maybe start on cleaning his room. Jo was still coming home in a few days. She'd be able to help him sort through all of this. She'd know what to do; she always seemed to know what to do.

"Oh, and Blaine?" called David. He had already started on his way home, but Blaine could see his tall form just beyond the park's borders.

"Yeah?"

"Let me know when Kurt's feeling better, so I can give the little guy a visit. You guys keep too many secrets."


	27. Chapter 27

It had only been two days. _Two days. _The longest freakin' two days in Blaine's life it seemed. But he was finally, finally, _finally_ able to visit him. Two days since Kurt had suffered a psychotic break in Blaine's room and killed Pavarotti. Two days since Blaine's world had completely flipped on its head. Two days since his mother had last spoken to him.

Burt had called him this morning and given Blaine the good news: Kurt was responding to treatment. He was able to have visitors. People other than family. And hopefully soon, he'd be transferred back to Lima. Kurt might be able to go home in just a few days. He was getting better. Things were finally looking up.

Blaine had agreed to meet Burt outside the hospital around noon, and Blaine was nothing but a bundle of nervous energy as the morning stretched on. He'd bleached and re-bleached the brownish spots on his carpet until the fibers were stiff and only slightly off color. Maybe he'd buy a throw rug or something to cover the stains, help him forget the memory.

Vacuuming had taken care of the feathers, and there had been so many feathers. He was still finding them in the little nooks and crannies of his room. Blaine had spent a good deal of time picking them out of the carpet one by one to distract himself. The little yellow feathers had crackled in his fingers as he'd picked them up, the edges crisp and hard with dried clots of brownish blood. He still hadn't bothered to clean out the cage, instead opting to drape a towel over it and leave it alone in the corner. Out of sight, out of mind. He'd take care of it eventually.

But then there was Kurt.

He was going to see Kurt today.

Blaine stood outside the hospital, leaning against one of the large windows of the waiting area. He was early, but not by too much. Burt would be here soon. And then he'd get to see Kurt. He leaned back on his heels and flexed his toes through his shoes. They were old, these shoes. The soft padding was wearing out and growing flat, but he loved the stupid things anyway. Sentimental value and all that nonsense. He liked the way his socked feet slid on the worn felt of his shoes' insides.

"Hey, you're early. I wasn't expecting you so soon." Blaine turned and found Burt Hummel standing just off to his left. The man looked pretty haggard, but clean. He'd shaved and showered at the very least, and his pants and shirt looked fresh. Blaine figured that he'd cleaned up to keep Kurt from freaking out or something. Kurt was always so particular about hygiene.

"Hello, Mr. Hummel."

"Look, Blaine," he started, his voice a little rough and worn from lack of sleep. "I've gotta warn you before we go in there." Blaine felt something tighten in his chest. Oh god, something was wrong. Something was wrong with Kurt.

_Let him be okay. Let everything be okay. Please don't tell me something's wrong. Kurt should be getting better, right? Otherwise I wouldn't be allowed to see him. He's got to be okay._

_Everything's going to be okay. It has to._

Burt shoved his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket. His shoulders were slumped to match his drooping posture; the rim of his cap was pulled low over his eyes. The man was nervous. "Kurt, he…he's not well, son."

Blaine met his eyes squarely, his back still pressed against the cool glass of the window. "I know that, sir."

"Thought you did. I mean, how could you not, with everything that's happened, but that…that's not quite what I'm talking about. Just don't-" He paused, his eyes wandering upward to the sky. "Don't expect much from him just yet. He's not well."

Blaine simply nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. Burt sighed and turned his head toward the hospital doors. "Well. Shall we?" He headed inside, Blaine tight on his heels.

It was surreal, walking in there again. This hospital gave him a little yellow tag for his name. Not nearly as bright as the garish pink one still laying crumpled in one of the cup holders of his car, but certainly bright enough to be hard on the eyes. His handwriting was better, though. No 'Blarn Anderson' this time, no matter how much he wanted to scratch out the neat letters and replace them with the sloppy block print he'd used on the last nametag. It reminded him of Kurt somehow.

Both he and Burt had to remove their shoes and leave them behind the front counter. They were given little paper slippers to cover their socks if they wanted them. Blaine hated the sound they made when he shuffled around in the hard carpet covering the floor, but he wore them anyway. He didn't feel like testing the waters. Besides, Burt was wearing his; Blaine could suffer through them for an hour or two. They took away his belt, the little white lanyard he used to keep track of his keys. No exposed strings, nothing too rope-like, just in case a patient got too close. No pens or pencils. Nothing sharp. No weapons. Nothing that could potentially turn into a weapon. It put Blaine on edge.

The nurses gave him and Burt a brief overview of how this would happen. Burt had most assuredly heard this speech before—he'd visited Kurt the day before, Blaine was sure of it—but the man listened attentively at Blaine's side, completely focused on the brief presentation. The last thing he wanted was to mess up and not be allowed to see Kurt again until the treatment was fully working. The nurses instructed them in where they could go, what they could do when inside the facility. Blaine was never to be alone. Always with an adult. Always supervised. Just like a little kid or a dog kept on a short leash. He didn't mind, though. Not in this place. Not when the patients stared at them from little groups huddled under blankets as they passed by. Not when he didn't have the comforting slip of his socks against the worn insides of his shoes. Not when he could hear someone screaming just down the hall.

Kurt was kept entirely in his own room for the time-being; they said he wasn't lucid enough to be trusted alone with the other patients just yet. That made Blaine nervous. Burt's words from earlier came back to him as they rounded the corner toward Kurt's room.

_He's not well, son._

_Not well._

_He's not well_.

The words echoed in his head, bouncing around and around like a billiard ball. That quiet admission had a greater effect on him than even the reality of being here in this place did because Kurt's dad never gave up on him. Never. And yet, with those three little words, he was admitting defeat.

Blaine really didn't know what to do anymore.

They were allotted only a few minutes at a time with Kurt. More might be too much. They couldn't afford to stress him. Not now. Not at this early stage in his treatment.

Burt and Blaine had agreed to go in together. It was easier that way. The door would be kept open, just a crack, and a nurse would be waiting for them just outside to lead them back to the front or subdue Kurt if necessary. Blaine prayed that it wouldn't be necessary.

Kurt's room was bare except for a low stool and a bed attached to the wall. Everything was painted in white or a soft, muted blue color. Like the petals of a forget-me-not. Kurt was pressed up into a corner, his bare feet tucked up tight against his thighs, toes curled into the smooth blanket beneath him. His hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes. He stared intently at the wall, eyes fixed on something Blaine couldn't see; he didn't even look up as Burt and Blaine entered the room, didn't seem to notice their presence.

There was a notebook lying just out of Kurt's reach, a few of its pages torn out and folded a bit at the corners. A stick of blue wax, almost like a crayon without its wrappings, rested atop the scattered papers. Its rounded edges were harmless, non-threatening. Kurt had scribbled messy words and pictures on some of the lined pages that Blaine couldn't make out. It didn't look like Kurt's handiwork, but no one else could have done it.

Burt approached Kurt's bed and sat down on the edge of it. His weight pressed down on the covers and he sank into the padding of the hard mattress. Blaine just stood off to the side, not really sure what to do. There was Kurt. Safe and sound. He didn't really look all that different from what Blaine remembered, just a little mussed, if nothing else.

"Hey, kiddo. It's me. I'm back." His voice was quiet and calm, though Blaine knew the man was anything but. "I brought your friend Blaine with me."

Kurt didn't respond. He was silent, still.

"Kurt?" Burt leaned forward, trying to catch Kurt's eye. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you fine," Kurt mumbled, his voice flat and emotionless.

Burt hadn't lost patience. "Will you look at me, Kurt?"

Kurt was silent, still staring at the wall for a few minutes. Blaine was growing nervous. This wasn't what he'd been expecting. Kurt suddenly turned his head to look at him. "What are you doing here?"

"What?"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, a bit stronger this time.

"I'm here to see you, Kurt. I wanted to know how you were doing." Damn. His voice was shaky. His nerves were showing. This wasn't going well at all.

Kurt's face pinched into the faintest hint of a frown, and his hand moved up to pick at the lobe of his left ear. "They don't like you, you know. Not after what you did, what you said."

Burt's hand moved to pull Kurt's fingers away from his ear. "Kurt, remember what your doctor said. You shouldn't be doing that."

Kurt slapped his father's hand away, his attention still focused on the boy in front of the door. His toes curled even tighter into the blanket, his feet taught, muscles straining. "You shouldn't be here."

"What do you mean, Kurt?"

His hand moved ever faster against the skin of his ear. His nails left little red gouges behind on the skin.

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated.

"I won't be here very long, Kurt. I just had to see that you're okay."

Kurt was suddenly very distracted with his ear, scratching and picking furiously at the already inflamed skin. "Kurt?" Burt asked softly, "Kurt, are you okay?"

"No. No, no, no, I can't get rid of them." He looked up at his dad, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed the man's arms and held tight. "Daddy," he whined, "daddy, you need to get rid of them. I can't—I can't do it. They're everywhere. I—they're…I _can't_-" Tears were leaking from his eyes in a steady, silent stream. Blaine backed away toward the door, his heart pounding. Kurt was scrabbling at his dad's shirt, trying to get a better grip, trying to ground himself in reality.

"Okay, Kurt. Okay. Just let me go get your doctor, all right? She'll know what to do. She can make them go away."

Kurt nodded vigorously, releasing his grip on his dad. Burt grabbed Blaine as they swept from the room. "Come on," he whispered, tugging gently on Blaine's shirt and leading him out into the hallway, "we need to go."

Burt had a short talk with the nurse stationed outside Kurt's room, and she quickly checked in on Kurt before shutting the door and talking to another nurse nearby. There was a minor flurry of activity centered around Kurt's room as Burt and Blaine were led away toward the front desk.

"What's going on, Mr. Hummel?"

"Nothing to worry about, Blaine. A little too much too soon, that's all. It's just a bad day."

Bad day? He'd been worse than this? "Will he be okay?"

"Yeah," Burt murmured absently, not really paying much attention to the boy at his side. "He will be. Just give it some time."


	28. Chapter 28

Author's notes: I feel the characterization is off for this one, but I'm tired of tweaking it.

* * *

"So, uh, do you want to get some coffee or maybe something for lunch?"

"Sure," Blaine mumbled, distracted. "That would be great."

Burt leaned over to peer into the teen's face. The bright afternoon sunlight washed out Blaine's skin, making him look extremely pale. "You okay there, kid? I know it wasn't easy in there."

"Yeah. I'm fine." Blaine shuffled his shoes on the pavement, grateful to have them back on his feet, grateful to be outside those terrible restricting walls. It was comforting to have his belongings back on his person—the soft armor of his shoes over his feet, the tight cinch of his belt at his waist, the familiar weight of his keys in his pocket—but he was still shaken. He'd been waiting for this, waiting to see Kurt again, but that hadn't been Kurt.

The person in that little blue room was something else entirely, something terrible and foreign that made Blaine's stomach flip and his hair stand on end. He desperately wanted to scream and cry and shake Kurt over and over until the demons fled, until he was _Kurt_ again, because things like this just didn't happen in real life. He released a short puff of air through his nose and looked at Kurt's father.

Blaine didn't quite know what to think of the man. He was such an imposing figure, though Blaine couldn't exactly put his finger on why. He wasn't the biggest or most terrifying man physically. Maybe it was the fact that he never really smiled (well, sometimes around Kurt), or perhaps it was the whole flannel shirts, ball cap, mechanic thing. A real man's man. _With one of the most effeminate sons I've ever seen. _A son that Burt cared for more than anything else in existence. Blaine could tell that from the way the man had tried to comfort Kurt, even though the teen hadn't even acknowledged his presence until the stress had become too much and overwhelmed him. Burt was a great dad, so far as Blaine could tell. Didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with Mr. Hummel, though. Not yet.

Blaine swallowed and curled his toes inside his shoes. "Um, where do you want to go?"

"There's a burger place I ate at last night. It's not that far from here, and the food wasn't too bad. We could go there, if you're not opposed to meat or anything like that. Some of the girls Kurt hangs around have a thing about that."

"Yeah, that would be fine. I don't know that I've ever turned down a good burger," he replied with a tired grin.

"Okay," Burt sighed. "Do you want to follow behind me then, or do you want to take one car and come back here?"

"I'll ride with you, if that's okay. I don't think I can drive right now."

Burt nodded. "Yeah, I know. That wasn't…I understand, kid." He adjusted the worn cap on his head and started over toward his car. Blaine followed along like a lost puppy, his feet moving of their own accord. His hands shook as he opened the car door; he could feel little tremors running through his entire body.

_What are you doing here?_

_You shouldn't be here._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he whispered fervently to himself as he climbed into the car, desperately trying to get Kurt's voice out of his head.

_You shouldn't be here._

"Oh god, _please _shut up."

Burt shot him a worried glance. "You say something, Blaine?"

"N-no, sir." He swallowed hard and buckled himself in. Oh god, he was going crazy. What if whatever had crawled into Kurt's brain had infected him as well? What if he was hearing things, seeing things that weren't there? What if he was going to start trying to kill his friends and family? What if—?

He threw his head back against the soft padding of the seat and screwed his eyes shut to try and calm himself down. His breath was too fast. His fingers tingled with numbness. His eyes stung so bad. He wanted nothing more than to go into some dark corner and cry until he couldn't anymore, until every tear buried deep inside his head had dried up and disappeared, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't afford to break down in front of Kurt's dad like that. He had to be strong. He had to do this. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs with air. Blaine wasn't the one going crazy. Kurt was. Blaine just needed to learn how to cope.

_It's just a bad day._

"Mr. Hummel?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean?"

Burt was quiet for a moment, his eyes glued to the road. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Blaine. You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Sorry. Um, I just—what did you mean back there at the hospital when you said that this was just a bad day? Was Kurt, um, was he…?" He let the question hang in the air unfinished. He didn't know quite what to say. _Was Kurt worse? Was he violent? Was he like this before? Did this mean he wasn't getting better?_

The restaurant pulled into view, and Burt slowed the car to a stop. He pulled the keys out of the ignition but didn't make a move to get out. Instead, he just sat there, eyes forward, hands resting on the steering wheel. Blaine was startled when the man opened his mouth to speak.

"It was really bad when you and your mom brought Kurt in. The doctor told me they had to sedate him to get him to calm down." He sighed and flexed his hands around the hard leather of the steering wheel. Blaine watched the man's knuckles go white as his grip tightened. "He thought the EMTs were trying to kill him."

Blaine looked down at his knees. It was so much easier than looking at the man beside him. His fingers longed for something to do, itched to trace the lines and stitches of his denim jeans, but he sat completely still, waiting for Burt to continue. He needed to hear this.

"Once he was awake and they got him full of meds, he seemed to be okay. He was calmer, at least. Talking to me and the nurses. He wasn't—" Burt paused and swallowed around the growing lump in his throat, "wasn't quite the same, but he was close. Close to being Kurt again. Just a little quieter and kind of confused. Not as expressive. Definitely not as eloquent." He chuckled a little and Blaine cringed at the sound. It was so hollow, so empty. This whole thing must be really hard for him.

Burt turned his head to look at Blaine. "That's why they cleared him for non-family visitors, actually. He wasn't dangerous or anything anymore, but he wasn't quite the same as he was before he got sick. Come on. We're here." He stepped out of the car and Blaine followed suit, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets where his fingers could run over the rough edges of his keys.

But they hit something he wasn't expecting and stopped dead in his tracks just outside the door. Burt noticed and shot him an inquiring look. "Kid? You okay? I can turn around if you need me to. We don't have to eat here. We don't have to get anything at all."

"No, this is fine. I just-" The sensitive pads of his fingers ran over smooth plastic, and he pulled the item out of his pocket. Kurt's phone. He'd forgotten about it. He stared at the black device for a moment before holding it out to Burt. "Here. It's Kurt's. I was going to give it to you or Finn earlier, but I completely spaced it. I forgot I even had it."

Burt took it and pressed the power button. The phone chimed as it turned on, the little screen flashing a greeting. Seven missed calls. Dozens of texts. Most of them from Mercedes. Burt remembered Finn telling him something about her the other night when he'd called to check in. The girl had gotten worried when Kurt hadn't called her back or something, when everyone refused to tell her where Kurt was. She thought he might have been hospitalized again. Too bad she was right.

Burt held the device reverently in his hands. What he wouldn't give to have Kurt holding this, chatting into it and running up a stupidly high bill. He stuck it into his shirt pocket and placed his hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Thanks."

Blaine nodded and let the gentle weight on his shoulder ground him in reality. This man was Kurt's rock. He was so strong. Blaine needed to be strong too. For Kurt.

_Thanks._

That little word said a lot. He'd never imagined one word could mean so much.

"Of course, Mr. Hummel." Blaine smiled at the man beside him. He could help him bear this burden. He could be strong for Kurt too. "You're welcome."


	29. Chapter 29

Author's notes: Okay, so I really shouldn't be posting right now because I have an essay to write and midterms to study for and all kinds of things that I really shouldn't have put off, but oh well. I'll sort out my priorities some other day. Hopefully now I can get this essay out before I fall asleep.

* * *

"Jo."

She stood in the open doorway like a phantom. The warm, bright sunlight hit her back and lined her form in white, almost like an angel. It didn't matter what she was; she was his saving grace. Always had been. And damn was it good to see her again.

She wrapped her arms around him in greeting. "Hey there, baby bro. You miss me?"

"More than you could ever imagine," he mumbled into her shirt.

"Oh, hey, I brought you a gift." She released him and knelt down onto the floor, shuffling through her bag. She pulled out a giant tumble of fabric from the open zipper.

"What, pray tell, is that?" He pointed at the crumpled black and pink whatever-it-was she had bundled in her hands.

"Your gift. Here." She handed it over to him. "Try it on."

He unfolded it like a flag and inspected the thing, a tiny grin lifting up the corners of his mouth. "It's a shirt."

"Yup," she said proudly as she stood. "One of the clients was handing them out for free at a fair I had to attend."

"No offense, Jo, but do you even know what size I wear? This could probably fit three of me."

"How was supposed to know you hadn't turned into some sort of terrible obese monster? It's not like I see you on a regular basis."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really, Jo? You think I'd gain four hundred pounds in seven months?"

She shrugged. "It's possible."

She cringed a little under the look he gave her. "Okay. So maybe all that was left was size double XL. At least I got you something, right? I don't know, bud. It was free. I couldn't turn it down. I thought you'd like the colors. You could always use it as a sleep shirt or something."

He examined the thing again. The black was fine. Most everyone looked good in it, and Blaine was no exception. The pink design on the front, though, that got him. "What is this?"

"Company logo or something. I'm not exactly sure."

"Mmm." He nodded and traced the thick lines with his fingertips. He recognized this pink. It was the same shade as that stupid nametag, the one still wadded into a little ball in his car. _Wonder what Jo would think of Blarn Anderson._ He snorted and draped the thing over his arm. "Thanks, Jo. I like it."

"Good, 'cause that's all you're getting from me." Her smile widened and she placed her hands on her hips. "All right, what's going on, Blaine? You're awfully quiet, and mom sounded kind of pissed on the phone. Is everything okay?"

He ducked his head. "Let me help you get your bags upstairs." And he moved toward the luggage piled up at her feet.

"Blaine." She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. What's going on with you? I mean, really. I know something's up. It's _me_. You can tell me."

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Blaine." He paused, his hand clenched tight around the strap of her duffle. "You sure about that? Talking always helped before. And you know I'm not going to judge you or anything. Promise."

He pulled his lips in tight between his teeth and sucked in a great lungful of air through his nose. This was Jo. She'd been the first person he'd come out to, the first person he'd told about the harassment at school. She was the one to listen—never judging, never interrupting—just there. Always there. But he wasn't sure if he could tell her about Kurt. He could feel moisture lining the bottom of his eyes, but the familiar sting of tears wasn't there. He was numb. So very, very numb.

He nodded a little and closed his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's go upstairs first, get your stuff back in your old room, and I'll tell you everything."

She nodded, grabbed the handle of her luggage and followed her brother upstairs, wheeling the thing behind her. Blaine was suspiciously quiet as they climbed the stairs and shuffled down the hallway to what was once her room. The house was so familiar and yet different all at once. She supposed the different color of the paint on the walls had something to do with it. She slowed and ran her fingers along the smooth drywall. Blue. Just like her mother had always wanted when she was a kid. She wondered when dad had finally relented to having everything painted this way.

"Jo?"

Blaine. She shook herself awake. Her little brother needed her. She couldn't afford to get lost in nostalgia now. "Sorry. I got distracted for a second."

His face broke out in a grin. "I noticed." He gestured toward her doorway. "You coming?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Her room had been cleaned, but very little of it had changed since her last visit. A few things were missing, but that was to be expected. Mom had called a while back and asked about a few things, if she was willing to let a couple of her old belongings fall victim to a garage sale. It wasn't as if she was using them. She propped her bag up against the wall and flopped down onto the smooth surface of her old bed. Blaine was still standing just inside the door, her duffle slung over his shoulder.

"You can put that down now, you know."

"What?"

She pointed at the bag. "That. You can set it down."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, my head was somewhere else."

"So I noticed." She sighed and watched as he pulled the strap over his head and placed the bag down on the floor. "You okay, Blaine?"

He walked over to her desk, setting his new shirt down on the clean surface in a wadded black lump. He pulled out the chair and sat down, his shoulders hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Not really, no."

"What's going on? You've really got me worried, little brother. You're really not acting like yourself and it's kind of scaring me."

"You remember that boy I told you about?"

"Which one?"

"A couple months ago, um, there was this kid who transferred to Dalton."

"Oh, is this the spy kid you told me about? Robert or something?"

"It's Kurt, and yeah, that's the one."

"Okay, so what about him?"

"He's in the hospital, Jo."

"What?"

"Yeah. He was admitted a couple days ago."

"Oh my gosh, Blaine. I'm so sorry. What's wrong? Is he okay?"

Blaine hung his head. "I don't know."

Jo frowned. Her brother was keeping himself a little too guarded. There was something Blaine wasn't telling her. "So, is there anything else I should know?"

He stared down at the floor for a moment, chewing his lips in contemplation before slapping his knees and standing. "I need to show you something." Okay. She could do that, if only it would help him open up.

She followed him to his room, noting his halting steps, the way his socks shuffled loudly against the carpet, his fast, uneven breaths. Something was up. "I haven't been up here in two days, Jo. I've been sleeping in the guest room downstairs." He paused just inside the door and pointed down at the carpet. There was a slight discoloration, a little darker than the rest of the room, but not by much.

"Okay…so what's up with the carpet?"

"That's a bloodstain, Jo."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"Kurt was here. On Sunday. He killed Pavarotti, the bird I was watching for him. And then he tried to stab me with a pen."

"Wait, _what_? Are you telling me your friend tried to kill you?"

"Um, sort of? I guess you could-"

"What the hell kind of friends do you have, Blaine? Is that why mom was all freaky at me? Because she's afraid of your friends or something? I thought you got away from all the crazies when you transferred to that all boys school. I mean, _jesus_, Blaine, what-"

"Would you just _stop_ already? I just—you know, this, _this_ sort of thing right here is why I didn't want to tell you what was wrong, okay? Because I knew you'd flip out on me and then just pretend that nothing's wrong when I stop talking to you. Just. Like. Mom. I swear to god, I'm just—I'm sick of it! Kurt's fine. He's _fine._" His breath was coming in short gasps as he tried to calm himself down. "He just…forgot," he mumbled as he collapsed onto his bed, his voice breaking. He was just so _tired_. Of everything. Why couldn't things go back to the way they were? Why did everything have to be so messed up?

Jo stared at him in silence for a moment before sitting down beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped with her weight, and she drew her brother flush against her side, resting his head on her collarbone. "I didn't…I never meant it like that, okay? Sorry. It's just—you know, I've watched people try to hurt you before; I can't stand to see you like that."

"Yeah. I know, but Kurt's not like that, I swear. He…he's a good kid."

"I bet. He sounds special to you."

"Yeah. He is."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Jo kept her arm wrapped loosely around her brother's shoulders. There had been something troubling about what Blaine had said earlier, and she couldn't just let it slide. "Hey, Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you mean? When you said, 'he forgot.' What did he forget, your friend? Must've been important." She wasn't looking at him, instead choosing to stare straight ahead out the open window in front of them.

Blaine was quiet. Jo could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing from the subtle rise and fall of his chest against her side. She tried to form an image of this kid, Kurt, in her head. What sort of person was he like? Blaine had talked about him often enough when they spoke on the phone, even if she hadn't been paying the most attention. She was so distracted, she almost missed the soft sound of his answer when Blaine finally spoke again.

"His medication. He forgot his medication."

The kid really was crazy then. Certifiable. She didn't say a word, hoping that Blaine would eventually elaborate further, but he didn't, he just laid there against the soft planes of her side, watching the light breeze make the curtains of his window dance in the sunlight. "I have to see him again today, Jo," he whispered after a while. "I promised his dad I'd come down to see him."

She nodded and pulled him in a little closer. As uncomfortable as the situation made her, this was her little brother—this was his life, his friend, his decision. Not hers. And whatever had happened, whatever this Kurt kid had done was eating Blaine up inside, and it killed her just a little bit to know that she couldn't help him. Not really. She could be there for him, though, since she'd done such a piss-poor job of it before when Blaine had been coming home in tears with little notes scribbled in marker detailing what was going to happen to him. All because he was gay. And she hadn't really done anything to help. Well, she could be there for him now. She could be his backup this time around. Whatever it took. She'd be there.

"Hey, Blaine?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you need a ride?"


	30. Chapter 30

Author's notes: Still going. I haven't stopped just yet. Midterms have slowed me down a little.

* * *

"Blaine. I wasn't sure you'd show. I know that it wasn't exactly easy the other day." Burt rose from his seat in the waiting room to greet them. He looked better, calmer than he had the last time Blaine saw him. His battered cap was slightly askew on his forehead, and Blaine's hands itched to straighten it, make it right, but he stayed still. Just because he was more comfortable around Kurt's dad didn't mean that he was ready to start fussing about his appearance like a mother hen. Burt tilted his head toward Jo. "And who's this?"

Blaine shook his head and gestured at his sister. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Hummel. This is Joanna. My sister."

"Jo." She held out her hand in greeting. "Call me Jo. Only my coworkers and my mother call me Joanna and it makes me feel ancient."

Burt's face split in a grin as he took her hand. "Consider it done."

"And Jo, this is Burt Hummel. He's Kurt's father."

Her smile fell, and her face went almost blank at those words. Kurt. Of course. The whole reason they drove down here. "I heard about your son. Well, obviously, or I wouldn't be here, but I'm sorry to hear that he isn't well."

Burt's lips tightened into a thin line, and Blaine was afraid for a second that the man was going to explode or cry or maybe even both. He stepped between the two, cleared his throat, and placed his hands over their still clasped ones. "Speaking of Kurt, how is he doing, Mr. Hummel?"

Burt sighed and loosened his grip, pulling his hand back to straighten the cap on his head. "Better than yesterday. Carole and Finn came up to see him, and he was acting better. No panic attacks or anything that time. The doctors said we'd be able to transfer him maybe the day after tomorrow."

"You'll tell me if-?"

"Yeah. Of course. Finn will get in contact with you if nothing else."

Blaine simply nodded in response, and Jo felt left out. She didn't know this Kurt kid aside from snippets of conversations on the phone with Blaine and that little revelation from him earlier that day. All she knew was that something was terribly, terribly wrong with the boy, and that if he ever tried to lay a hand on her brother again, she'd end him. Simple as that. No one messes with her little brother, no matter who they were. Not again. Not ever again.

"So are we allowed to see him? Now, I mean."

"Yeah. I was just waiting for you to get here." Burt turned his head briefly toward the nurse's station and his eyes went blank. Blaine could see the guy was torn; he wanted to see his son, but he wasn't sure that the person back there was really his son anymore. Blaine knew the feeling. He wanted nothing more than to sit and drink coffee with Kurt, talking about clothes and boys and nothing in particular. He hadn't known just how much he'd miss that until he couldn't simply call Kurt up and chat with him for an hour or two. Burt looked back at Blaine, his expression still neutral, his emotions contained. "He talked about you yesterday, you know. When they let me in to see him. That's why I asked you to come down this afternoon. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"Really?"

"Yeah, kid." Burt laid his hand on Blaine's shoulder and smiled at him comfortingly. "He's getting there. We'll get him back."

Blaine's eyes tracked over to the nurse's station, to that ominous door leading to the back. "I know. We should," he swallowed, "we should probably go on back there." He looked at his sister standing beside him and noted her bewildered expression. "You can wait here if you want, Jo. Or I guess you could come back with us. You don't have to do anything, really. I'm just glad you came."

Jo looked at the pair of them and felt a tightening in her throat. "Um, I think I'll just stay out here. No offense, Mr. Hummel, but I have no idea who your son is, and I know that if it were me back there, I wouldn't want strangers gawking at me."

"No, that's fine." The corners of his mouth lifted up in a secret little smile. "I don't think Kurt would appreciate being seen by someone new when he's at less than his best. He's kind of picky about his appearance," he explained.

Blaine chuckled, "That's an understatement."

"Maybe a little," Burt agreed. "Well, let's go on back, then. Kurt's been waiting for us."

"You'll be okay here, Jo?"

"Yes, dummy. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Go on and see your friend. I'll be here when you get back." She sat down in the chair nearest to her and picked up one of the old magazines sitting beside her, leafing through the first couple of pages with mild interest. "Oh, and Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Just know that the minute we get home, you're going to wash all that gel crap out of your hair so I can ruffle it. I miss those fluffy curls."

"Jo, the reason I started doing this to my hair in the first place was to keep you from doing that."

"It will make it all the sweeter, then," she said with a smirk, and she promptly put her full attention to the magazine in her lap, paging through it until she found a story worth reading.

* * *

A new day, a new tag, this one as blue as the clear skies outside. As Blaine flattened down its corners on his chest, he wondered where the hospitals got these and why they were so stupidly colorful. Maybe it was supposed to be an optimistic contrast to the grim reality of being here. Didn't make him feel better, though. He wasn't sure anything would.

Blaine once again lost his shoes, but he refused the paper slippers. His socks would do just fine, thanks, though Burt was fine slipping on a pair of his own. Blaine couldn't stand the light crinkling sound they made, their cheery blue color, but said nothing. Maybe they were a comfort to the man. He didn't know and wasn't comfortable with asking. Blaine still longed for his shoes. A nurse, a completely different one from last time, though Burt seemed to recognize him, quietly gave them the presentation on safety and procedures and led them into the back.

It was quiet this time. No murmuring in the background, no screaming patients behind closed doors, no quiet gossip from the nurses and orderlies, no rattling of pills or quiet strains of music, no shuffling of paper or fabric, even from the patients clustered along the walls of the common area. Nothing. Blaine couldn't stand it. He wanted to take the silence in his hands and break it—smash it against the walls with screaming and pounding of fists. It would make this place seem far less surreal, like he was actually _here _and not making the whole thing up in his head, like some terrible nightmare. Maybe he was the one who was really going crazy. He needed this to be real.

Kurt was still locked away in that little blue room, and Blaine couldn't help but notice the contrast between the muted color of the walls and the bright, glaring nametag plastered to his chest. Maybe it was some sort of cosmic metaphor. Kurt was too pale, too thin, too ungainly. He moved more like a trapped animal than the boy from Blaine's memory. Maybe it was true. Maybe Kurt was trapped. Blaine felt his chest grow heavy at the sight of him. This Kurt was only a shade of his former self.

Kurt was on his bed as he was last time, but he was far less guarded. The little notebook from before was perched on his knees and he was inspecting the pages with faded interest. The little stick of bluish wax was resting beside his bare foot, the tip of it just brushing the pale skin. Blaine noted that his ear still looked enflamed, and his heart sank. So that habit hadn't gone away.

"Hey, Kurt."

He looked up and smiled at the sight of his dad standing in the doorway, placing the bundle of white pages down next to his hip. The crayon rolled around on the bed covers to rest against his toes, and Blaine studied the messy lines and words scribbled across the paper from his place behind Burt. None of it made any sense, but it kept him from looking at Kurt's face, kept him from staring at the uncombed hair and dark rings of skin under his eyes. He couldn't even look up at the sound of Kurt's voice, the first hint of noise to break through the overwhelming silence.

"Hi, dad."


	31. Chapter 31

Burt's smile was a little stifled, but Blaine said nothing as the man walked over to the low stool next to Kurt's bed and pulled it out for himself to sit. He could see how hard this was for the man, seeing Kurt so sick. Blaine himself hung near the doorway, not really sure what to do or where to go.

He looked at Kurt and couldn't help picture the sad deranged boy from his last visit with his cold, staring eyes and harsh, jerky movements. Like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. Kurt really didn't look all that different now, and Blaine wondered just how long it would be before he snapped.

_You shouldn't be here._

His heart leapt into his throat and lodged itself into his windpipe. He wasn't sure he could do this, not after last time, not when it had become so hard to breathe.

_You shouldn't be here._

Panic was starting to take hold, gripping him in its terrible, icy claws. Blaine stepped back and leaned against the door frame, clutching the wooden ridges tight in his fingers. This was so hard. No one had ever told him love was going to be so impossibly difficult. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe his choice in men was flawed. Maybe he should just give this whole thing up. He didn't know if he could do this right now.

He pictured the wooden door frame buckling beneath his fingertips, splintering into a thousand little pieces under the pressure of the clenching muscles of his hands. Surely something had to happen; someone had to know just how freaked he was right now, and it really wasn't fair. Not at all. He'd been so certain that he was ready for this, that nothing could go wrong, and now, when he was finally seeing Kurt again in person, his breath wouldn't come the way it should, his hands wouldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop sweating. It really wasn't fair. That terrible numbness from before was creeping into his hands and his throat just kept getting smaller and smaller. He really didn't know if he could do this anymore.

Burt didn't take any notice, and he leaned over the side of Kurt's bed, gripping his son's long, spindly fingers in his own and brushing the top of Kurt's hand in a comforting circle with his thumb. "How are you feeling today, bud?"

"Better." Kurt reached up to trace the shell of his ear and tug at the soft pillow of his earlobe. There was no scraping of nails, no tearing of flesh, but the action still made Blaine incredibly nervous. "They're not so loud today," Kurt murmured softly.

"That's good." Burt's voice was quiet, subdued, but genuinely relieved. He brushed a hand over the gentle sweep of Kurt's bangs, shifting the chestnut hair from the boy's forehead to tuck it behind his ear. "We don't want a repeat of two days ago."

Kurt shook his head—a tiny, almost demure gesture that left Blaine completely and utterly torn. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to run up to the other boy, throw his arms around him, and never let go. The two of them could simply run away together and never come back; Blaine could take out of all the evil things that had wedged themselves into Kurt's brain and wash them away with love, as though they'd never been there. Everything would be okay again; they could be stupid and happy and young and in love, and nothing could stop them. Nothing could take them down. But he was kidding himself. Kurt already had more love than he'd ever need from his dad. The man was kind of amazing that way, and Blaine only wished he had that sort of support system. His parents, his sister, they were wonderful, but they weren't in quite the same caliber as Burt Hummel. If love was all it took to cure him, Kurt would never have gotten sick in the first place. Not with a dad like Burt standing behind him and holding him up. It wasn't fair, but when is anything ever fair?

On the other hand, simply seeing Kurt curled up in this little blue room, all pale and ruffled and all too similar to that strange foreign presence that had so terrified him before, had Blaine so nervous he could barely keep still for fear that the slightest movement would cause Kurt to explode. Though no one could really blame him for feeling the way he did. There really hadn't been all that much time since Kurt had tried to kill him, after all. He couldn't just sweep that one under the rug and forget about it without some time. It didn't mean that he didn't want to see Kurt; it just meant he self-preservation instincts were alive and well. That's all. But Blaine would admit that he felt a little bad that his body was already tensing reflexively at Kurt's words.

_They're not so loud today._

That sort of thing couldn't be normal, could it?

"Blaine came down to see you." Burt tilted his head in Blaine's direction. Kurt looked over at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled just a little.

"I know. I saw him come in behind you."

"Do you want to talk to him?"

"If he wants to talk to me." Kurt shot him with a pointed look. "He hasn't moved from the doorway yet, and to be honest, he doesn't really look like he wants to be here."

Well, that certainly _sounded _more like the Kurt he knew. Burt turned and frowned at Blaine without ever letting go of Kurt's hand. Blaine cleared his throat and released the wall, taking a step forward. There were tiny tremors running through his legs that he prayed desperately that no one could see. "But you can't really blame me, can you, Kurt? Even with your wonderful presence, do you think anyone really wants to be here?"

"No, I suppose not." Kurt leaned back and the hard nub at the top of his spine thudded dully against the wall behind him. Blaine noticed then that Kurt was curled up in the same spot he'd been in the last time Blaine had visited. He wondered how often Kurt moved from that spot, if sitting there was a comfort somehow.

Blaine stepped over to the bed. His socks slipped on the smooth floor, and he could feel the cold from the tiles seeping through the thin fabric up into the sensitive skin at the bottom of his feet. The mattress of the bed was surprisingly firm, and Blaine had to stop himself from cringing as he sat down. Definitely not the most comfortable thing in the world.

"So what did my dad bribe you with to come see me?"

Blaine looked up, startled, until he saw Kurt's smiling face. Blaine would know that grin anywhere. Kurt was joking with him! "Well, you know, nothing special. Just money, lavish dinners and vacations, your hand in marriage. You know, the basics," he said, leaning back against the wall.

And Kurt laughed. Blaine hadn't thought he'd ever hear that sound again. It was funny how something he'd never really liked all that much before could make him feel so much better about everything. He reached over and placed his hand over the still clasped ones of Kurt and his dad. The skin under his palm was warm and reassuring, and he smiled. He missed little physical comforts like this, like his mother's hugs, Jo ruffling his hair or his dad's gentle pats on the shoulder. He hadn't realized just how much he'd wanted something like that until now. No one seemed to touch him anymore, and _god _did he miss it.

He squeezed his hand over the bundle of fingers in his grip. "You sure you're doing okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied, his voice soft and peppered with a tiny hint of sorrow. "Yeah, I think I am."


	32. Chapter 32

Author's notes: Happy Valentines Day to those of you who celebrate it. Here's a kind of late chapter. And also, I know I've done this before, but I can't thank you guys enough for all of the support you've given me on this story. So thanks again to all you who stop by and read this. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

* * *

Blaine was quiet most of the car ride home, and Jo was getting nervous. Her brother had put on quite the front when he'd seen that guy, Hummel or something, but she knew Blaine. She knew when something was wrong, and judging from the tiny downturn of his lips and the heavy nature of his sighing breaths as he stared out the car window, something was indeed wrong. She just needed to get him to say it.

"Is your friend doing okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled quietly. "Kurt seemed to be doing better."

He quieted once more and she let the silence wash over them. It was uncomfortable and made her fingers itch. Blaine wasn't providing any answers, though. She'd have to do most of the leg work here.

"Why do you look so bummed then? I mean, if he's getting better, that's a good thing, right?"

Blaine didn't answer immediately; and the quick glimpses Jo caught of his face told her that he was upset and he wasn't telling her the whole truth. "Blaine?"

"He's more lucid, Jo, but he's hiding something. I think that something might be wrong and he isn't telling us so he can get out of there sooner—not that I blame him; that place is pretty terrifying—but I think he isn't being completely honest with us."

"How so?"

"That's the thing; I don't know. Something just seemed really off. I didn't want to say anything though because I'm sure Kurt would pick up on it." He turned to look at her, his chin still resting on the heel of his palm. "He's not stupid, Jo. He knows what we want to see, what we want to hear. I think he isn't telling his doctors everything so he can go home."

"Why didn't you say anything, then? I mean, this kid can be pretty dangerous when he goes off, right?"

"Well, yeah, but…I don't know. Kurt's not _that_ dangerous."

"Didn't he try to kill you with a pen?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. He wasn't himself then. Besides, I didn't really have a chance to say anything. If I mentioned it to Kurt, he'd probably just get defensive or something and I'd have been thrown out. If I said something to his dad, he'd probably freak out and overreact; he's really worried about his kid, Jo."

"Can't blame him for that."

"No. You can't. And Burt, he's a really good guy. He and his new wife gave up their honeymoon just so they'd have enough money to cover Kurt's tuition to Dalton."

"Oh, is he a transfer?"

"Yeah. He's…um, he's kind of like me. There was a bad situation at his old school."

That certainly caught her attention, and she wondered just what it was that pushed this kid over the edge, if maybe his situation had something to do with the loose bolts in his brain. Blaine hadn't exactly been the most stable after the last incident at his old school. "Bad like yours?"

"Worse."

"Blaine, people were drawing pictures of you hanging yourself or getting dismembered and leaving them in your locker."

"Don't remind me."

"How on earth could it have gotten worse?"

"My bullies never actually touched me."

"Oh." Oh, crap. She really hadn't expected that. "Oh man, Blaine. I'm sorry. Was he hurt or anything?"

"Not exactly, but he was pretty shaken up about the whole thing. There was one guy who harassed him pretty bad. The school expelled the guy after he threatened Kurt, but it was repealed by the school board because they couldn't prove anything. Kurt could have given them the proof they needed, but that required revealing things that he really didn't want to tell."

"What kind of things?"

Blaine shook his head. "I'm not at liberty to say. The main bully, though, he's a closet case, which is why he picked on Kurt so bad. Kurt couldn't tell the principal much of anything without outing the kid, and he didn't want to do that, even though he had every right to."

"That seems awful cruel of you."

"It's the truth. The guy made Kurt's life hell. If he was just honest with himself about liking boys, then maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad."

"You don't know that."

"What?" He looked at his sister, but her eyes were focused on the road.

"You don't know that things would have turned out differently. I'm assuming Kurt is gay, correct?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anyth-"

"Let me finish, dummy. So this Kurt kid, I assume he got picked on because he bats for the other team."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So wouldn't coming out make things just as bad, if not worse, for this other guy? I agree that Kurt didn't necessarily have to keep anything a secret because from the sound of it, this other guy was out of line, but outing someone else is kind of a big deal. Especially if the kid is insecure enough about it to harass someone else just because they're open about their sexuality. You wouldn't have wanted someone to have outed you before you were ready, right?"

Blaine sunk into his seat and stared hard at his knees. He thought of his crush from earlier in the year, Jeremiah, and how upset he'd been after Blaine's little stunt at the GAP. Oh god, he'd outed him, hadn't he? At work too. He buried his face in his hands. Oh god, he was a terrible person. How could he have been so stupid?

"Blaine?"

"I'm such a screw up, Jo."

"What do you mean?"

"I…I did that."

"I'm not following you here. What exactly did you do?"

"I sort of um, outed someone," he whispered.

Jo winced and drew in a sharp hiss of air between her teeth. "When?"

"Back in February. In my defense, I thought he was open about the whole thing. He took me out for coffee a couple of times, and I thought—well, I don't really know what I thought. I got the Warblers to help me serenade him, though. And it kind of got him fired."

Jo almost lost control of the car. "Wait, _what_? Why did you think it would be a good idea to do this at his work?"

Blaine sunk down even further, wishing he could make himself disappear. "It was the only place I knew for sure I could find him."

"You're kind of an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled into his seatbelt. "Rub it in a little more, why don't you?"

"Sorry, Blaine, but you gotta admit, that was kind of a sick move."

"I know. Can we just drop it?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's not like we can fix it now." She turned the car into their neighborhood. Blaine was dreading seeing his parents again. "So what makes you think Kurt's hiding something?" she asked, changing the subject.

"He's guarded. I don't know. There's just something in my gut telling me to look for signs. I missed them before, Jo. He hadn't taken his meds for nearly a week when he freaked out on mom and me. I'm not going to let this get by me again."

"So what are you going to do?" Their house came into view and Jo tapped the tiny black square of plastic above her head. The familiar white panels of the garage door slowly cranked open and she pulled the car inside.

"I don't know. Call Mr. Hummel, most likely. He'll know if I'm just imagining things."


	33. Chapter 33

Author's notes: I'm so sorry about the long wait on this chapter. I was blocked pretty bad for this story, but I think I've found out where I want to go now.

* * *

Blaine never did get around to calling Burt, but the man did call him. He hated to admit it, but he'd felt a light sense of relief when he saw the guy's name light up the screen of his cell phone, though Blaine felt incredibly stupid at the glaring blue proof the screen provided of his lapse in memory. He should have called Burt and voiced his concerns, should have done it the second he and Jo had gotten home from the hospital, but he hadn't. It wasn't that he thought everything was fine, oh no, because there was definitely _something_ off about Kurt.

Unfortunately, he couldn't put his finger exactly what it was that made him so uneasy. He couldn't say anything about it. No one would take him seriously. It wasn't as if Kurt had been acting overly strange when Blaine had seen him last, considering the circumstances; this was just a gut feeling that something wasn't quite right.

But Kurt had still been recovering then. It was natural for him to still be just a bit strange, just a bit off. Blaine couldn't say anything—they'd think he was just overreacting to seeing his friend in such a fragile state. No one would believe him. What the hell did he know about psychiatric medicine?

Burt's call had carried with it good news: Kurt was no longer a danger to himself or others. He was getting transferred to a lower security facility closer to home, and soon he'd be out of there for good. No more hospitals. No more worrying. They'd have moved him sooner, but paperwork had tied up the process. Blaine didn't know if he should be relieved or not.

It was a lazy summer afternoon, and it found Blaine sitting on the covers of his bed, staring out at the sunny day peeking in through his window. He had through briefly about calling David or Wes, maybe getting together and doing something, just the three of them, since Wes was finally back in town and both had been itching to get out and do something like old times, but he didn't. There was too much on his mind. Jo was leaving tomorrow morning. She'd gotten a call yesterday afternoon; the other intern's mother had died suddenly and they needed her back in the office a few days early. Blaine knew her visit was simply that, a visit. He'd known right from the start that she couldn't sick around forever, but the thought didn't make him any more comfortable. His sister was leaving him again. He was losing his main line of support.

Sometimes he wished she had just distanced herself from his problems like their parents. It would make things so much easier.

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn't be complaining. What right did he have to complain? He hadn't gathered up the courage to visit Kurt since he'd gone there with Jo nearly a week ago, though he'd kept up communication through the phone. Kurt was allowed to make a phone call or two out a night, and he'd called Blaine once or twice just to talk.

That first one had been a rather awkward affair. Kurt had been talkative then, and mostly lucid. He talked about the facility and seemed genuinely interested in the goings-on of Blaine's life. It was almost like old times until Kurt made him cut the call short. There were bugs, apparently. Bugs everywhere and they would pick up on the conversation and put him back. He never specified where exactly "back" was, but Blaine knew better than to question it.

He should have called Burt then, when Kurt had started babbling nonsense, but he didn't. He was sure the calls were monitored. The people at the hospital would have stepped in and done something if it had really been out of the ordinary.

He sighed and fell over onto his side. The soft, pliable skin of his cheek pressed up into the rest of his face as it flattened against the soft covers of his bed, and he closed his eyes to keep them from watering. It was so quiet now. His parents had taken Jo out to town for lunch and a bit of shopping before she had to leave. They were trying to smash every last moment they could with their daughter into these last few days because who the hell knew when Jo would be back around these parts. He had the house to himself.

In many ways, he envied his sister. She was bright and beautiful and everything their parents had ever wanted. Except that she was a girl. They hadn't wanted a girl. Blaine remembered all of the attention they'd given him as a small child until he starting acting different from what they expected. He wasn't their little 'man's man,' though he wasn't nearly as feminine as Kurt. He was Blaine, and that simply hadn't been good enough. Not when they were constantly comparing him to Jo. There was a reason he'd waited as long as he had to come out to them.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked around the room. His room. His dad had been fed up with him sleeping down in the guest room after the first couple of days. Blaine didn't blame him, really. It didn't matter what the heck had happened in his room. He couldn't keep sleeping downstairs. Blaine just needed to suck it up and deal with it. It had to be irritating to have such a coward for a son.

His gaze shifted unconsciously down to his new throw rug. His mother had gotten it for him to persuade him to move back upstairs. You couldn't really see the stain anymore, even when the rug was absent, but that didn't mean that it didn't haunt Blaine's dreams, keeping him from sleep. He kept hearing Kurt's voice over and over in his head, the old Kurt he knew mixing with the new _something_ that Kurt had become.

Warm sunlight washed over his face, and he tried to relax. He longed to simply melt into his mattress and disappear, almost like he'd never existed. No more worries. No more Blaine. His body ached for the quiet shuffling of Pavarotti in his cage, a return to something safe, something normal. He loved Kurt, he really did, but this was starting to grate on him.

Was it really worth all this turmoil in the end? Did he deserve all this heartache? And this was only summer vacation. What about school? What about after? He was _graduating _next year. What the hell was he going to do then? This was only a teenage romance (sort of), and Blaine was really starting to miss the comforting presence of his mother. If she'd only _talk_ to him—but it didn't really matter did it? Blaine had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. He really wished Jo wasn't leaving. Things had seemed so _normal_ that it hurt. He didn't want her to go. He didn't want to return to that terrible loneliness of loving a boy who wasn't there anymore.

He buried his head into the smooth fabric of his blankets and let the light warmth of the sun wash over him. Sleep was creeping up on him, blurring his thoughts and dragging him down into the dark.

He didn't know if he wanted to do this anymore.

Was Kurt really worth it?


	34. Chapter 34

Author's notes: Blah, this part is short and I really should be working on an essay right now, but oh well.

* * *

He almost missed the light tap on the door, he was so distracted. It swished open on its freshly-oiled hinges and Jo peeked her head in.

"Blaine? Can I come in?"

He didn't answer, just ignored her and kept on writing in his journal. It was stupid. He was just scribbling down the lyrics to half-forgotten songs he'd sung in his dreams. He didn't even know if the words were his or not. He's have to listen to Jo's stupid collection of CDs again to make sure he wasn't ripping someone else off. He could feel her presence hovering just beside the door, and he bowed his head lower. He was mad at her, and she should know it, even this was stupid and pointless in the end. She'd see through him after a while; Jo never put up with his crap for very long.

She stepped into the room and walked over to where he sat on the floor. Her feet barely made a sound as she slid across the carpet. It was always a trait he'd envied in her, that quiet, delicate way she carried herself. She sunk down to the floor with an exaggerated sigh, and he turned his head away from her sharply, pointedly ignoring her.

She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and leaned over toward him, trying to read over his shoulder. "What you got there?"

He snapped the notebook shut and shot her a steely glare. "None of your business."

"My, aren't we testy tonight," she huffed. "What crawled up your butt and died?"

Blaine busied himself with collecting together the various pens he'd scattered across the rug, making sure each one had the proper cap before placing it into a small pile with similar pens.

She sighed again and he pictured her running her fingers through the dark curls that always spilled across her forehead. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," she murmured softly.

His sharp, irritated movements slowed for a moment at those words before picking up again with renewed fervor. He said nothing, and Jo took his silence as her cue to continue. "They're worried about you, you know, mom and dad."

He snorted at that, still refusing to look her in the eye. "No, they're not. They're upset because you're skipping out on us again and they're stuck with me." He angrily snapped his pens together in his hand and made to rise, but Jo stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.

"That's not it, Blaine."

"And why not, Jo? You're so—fuck, I don't even know anymore!" His eyes were stinging, and he wanted nothing more than to scream and cry and fling things across the room. Who the hell cared about being calm and collected anymore? Blaine didn't want to do it anymore. He couldn't do this anymore. Fuck. He was shaking.

He looked so vulnerable in that moment that Jo nearly broke down and wrapped him up in her arms. She watched as he sunk back down to the carpet, and his fingers loosened their grip on the pens. They fell and hit the rug with a light clatter, the caps flew off the cheaper ones like a flock of colorful, plastic birds. Maybe he'd put them back together wrong. Maybe that's why they didn't quite fit the way they should.

"Blaine." His sister's voice permeated his thoughts. Her fingers were still tangled in the light fabric of his t-shirt. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."

Surely she could feel the light tremors running through his body, surely she could see just how close he was to breaking apart and shattering right then and there. "I don't know what to do anymore, Jo," he whispered.

Her fingers tightened on his sleeve, and she pulled him in just a bit closer to her. "What do you mean?"

"Kurt called while you were out."

Oh. She felt something twist in the column of her throat. So that's what was bothering him. "What did he say?"

"That's just it, Jo. He didn't say a thing. He sounded completely normal, like he hadn't been spewing nonsense at me just two days ago, like the medication is actually working, like…" He slowed, his breath coming in frantic gasps as his face crumbled with emotion. "Like none of this had ever happened."

She pulled him flush against her and cradled his head against her chest. God, she hadn't done this in years, since her brother had first transferred to that private school for boys. Blaine had gotten so much taller since then. "But that's a good thing, though, isn't it?" She rubbed comforting circles into the skin of his back, and hoped this was as calming as she thought it was. She wasn't sure she could handle a hysterical Blaine at the moment. "It means he's getting better, right?"

"That's the thing, Jo. I don't know what to think anymore." He could feel the gentle brush of her hair against his cheek. She smelled faintly of lavender; it was soothing. "I want so much for Kurt to be better, for this to just go away, and yet I know there's something wrong. He's just hiding it, Jo."

She said nothing, just continued to stroke his back. She didn't want to tell him that he was probably wrong. His friend was in the hospital for a reason, and surely they'd know if he was still insane. They had to. It was their job to know. They weren't about to let the kid roam free if they thought something might still be wrong, right? She sighed and squeezed his back reassuringly. Blaine would get over this. It was just one guy, not the end of the world.

"Why are you leaving me again, Jo?" His voice was so quiet, so broken, and she felt something break in her chest.

"Oh, Blaine. Is that what this is about? That I have to go back early?"

He said nothing. Yes, then. That's what this was about. She gripped his shoulders and pushed him away from her so she could look him in the eye. "It's not you, you know that, right? Tara's mom passed, and they need at least one of us around." She brushed back a curl of hair that has fallen into his face. She'd always liked it better when he wore his hair naturally. "There are some things in life that you just can't foresee. There are some things you just can't stop, babe."

His hazel eyes locked onto hers. "Is this one of those things?"

'This' could be so many things. It could be her leaving. It could be the way their parents were reacting to this whole thing. It could be all the stuff going on with his friend, Kurt. It could be everything rolled into one. "Yeah, Blaine. This is one of those things."

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around her torso. "God, I missed you so much, Jo. I don't want you to go," he mumbled into her shirt.

"Yeah, Blaine. I know."

"I don't think I can do this without you."

She grabbed his head and lifted his chin up. There were faint tracks of moisture running down his cheeks, and she wiped at them with her thumbs. "You can do it, little brother. You're Blaine Anderson. You can do anything you put your mind to. Courage, Blaine. You've just gotta have a little courage."


	35. Chapter 35

Author's notes: I think I might actually be closing in toward this end of this monster. It certainly won't feel like it at the end of this chapter, but I'm close.

* * *

It was almost like déjà vu, standing there at the front door to the Hummel residence, waiting for someone to answer. It was far cooler than he'd expected for this time of year, and the clouds rolling in overhead whispered of rain later on in the day. He hoped that it could wait until after he'd gotten home. There was nothing Blaine hated more than driving in the rain.

As the time ticked by, he was tempted to ring the doorbell again, just in case. He'd called before he came, just to be sure that the timing was fine, that it was okay for him to be there. Burt had sounded a little skeptical over the phone—Kurt had only been home a few days, and visiting him in the hospital was different than visiting him now that he was finally home; the last thing anyone wanted to do was stress him out and risk another lapse—but Burt had agreed. Kurt needed a sense of normalcy to get him used to things.

Blaine rocked back and forth on the porch from his heels to the balls of his feet. Maybe they hadn't heard the bell. His hand moved to the little metal button, about to press it one more time, before he heard shuffling around on the other side of the door. He quickly pulled back his hand and stood perfectly still. It wouldn't do to look so nervous now in front of Kurt's dad.

Blaine was mildly surprised when Finn was the one who peered outside when the locks finally slid from their places and the door swung open. The tall teen looked dreadful. Burt had mentioned that Finn had probably come down with something, and it couldn't be more apparent than in that moment. Finn's eyes were rimmed with red and the overall paleness of his skin was accented only by the flush decorating his cheeks. His dark hair was ruffled and his white t-shirt bunched up around his chest as though he had just woken up from a nap, and Blaine felt a twinge of guilt run through him. Burt had said it was fine for him to come down, but it felt an awful lot like he was intruding.

"Um, hey, Finn. Are you okay?" Blaine asked as Finn wavered lightly on his feet. "No offense, but you look pretty terrible. I could, um, I could just—"

Finn waved him off and stepped away, leaving the door open. "Nah, don't bother. Just come in."

Blaine followed Finn over to the living room where the taller boy collapsed down onto the couch and wrapped himself in a rumpled blanket that looked as though it had been sitting there for a while. Blaine could hear the clinks and scrapes of glassware being moved around in the kitchen, but he hesitated before heading over there, his eyes fixed momentarily on Finn. Something was wrong with this picture. "Um, where's Mr. Hummel?"

Finn ground the heel of his palm into his left eye and made an uncomfortable noise deep in his throat. Blaine wondered if the boy was running a fever. "You mean Burt?"

Blaine nodded, but Finn made no indication that he saw the gesture, and he faltered. "Yeah, I guess. Is, um, is Burt around by chance? He said it was fine for me to come over, but if he had to work or something…" he trailed off.

"No, you're fine. He stayed home today."

Blaine was confused. "So, is he in the kitchen then? Like, cooking or something, so he couldn't make it to the door and you had to get it? I don't want to bug you any more than I have to. You look kind of terrible."

Finn wedged his back deeper into the sofa cushions and pulled the blanket up higher around his chest. "No, no, Kurt's in there. Burt stepped out for just a minute to grab me some cold medication and one of Kurt's new prescriptions that got filled a little late. He'll only be gone a minute or two 'cause the store's not that far away. I told him that I'd hang out upstairs in case Kurt got nervous or something. He's been fine today, though. Nothing to worry about. You should go talk to him; he's just in there," Finn mumbled sleepily, pointing toward the kitchen, his voice growing softer with each word.

"I'll go do that, then. Uh, why don't you get some sleep? I can keep an eye on Kurt for you for the time being. Because seriously, Finn, you look pretty bad."

"So I've heard."

Blaine spared him one last look before walking over to the kitchen. What the hell had Burt been thinking? Leaving Kurt alone with his sick stepbrother. Blaine hoped like hell that the medication Burt was getting was completely essential, but the thought didn't put him at ease. If the stuff _was_ essential, then wouldn't that put Kurt more at risk of losing it? And if it wasn't, then why hadn't Burt simply waited, or asked Carole to pick it up on her way home? Blaine's throat tightened, Kurt's voice echoing in his ears.

_You shouldn't be here._

He shouldn't think that way. He really shouldn't. The hospital wouldn't have released Kurt if he wasn't better by now. He was being silly. There was nothing to worry about. He was safe here, even if Finn was nodding off in the other room and Burt was on his way back from the supermarket. Kurt was fine, but he still had trouble reigning in his racing heart.

Blaine cautiously peered around the corner into the kitchen, his pulse thrumming through his body. "Kurt?"

There was no answer, but Blaine hadn't really expected one. He couldn't really hear anything over his pounding heart. Kurt was in the far corner of the kitchen, removing what looked to be clean dishes from the dishwasher. Perfectly normal. Except for the perfectly lined rows of glasses and plates stacked across the island counter in the center of the kitchen, everything neatly arranged by shape and color. Kurt hadn't bothered to switch on the overhead light, and the room was dark from the dark, grey clouds outside. What little sunlight there was coming in through the windows pierced through the translucent glass of cups large and small, throwing colorful, patterned shadows onto the grey slate of the kitchen counter. Blaine forgot to breathe. How could something so normal look so very, very wrong? He cleared his throat, this time catching Kurt's attention. "Kurt?"

Kurt smiled at him, finally noticing his presence, and placed the plate in his hands into one of the neat stacks beside him. "Blaine. It's good to see you again. In person, this time, I mean. Phone calls are nice and all, but do prefer actually seeing who I'm talking to." He bent down and pulled out a little handful of utensils, the spoons flashing in his fingers as he sorted them into piles. "How have you been?"

Blaine was having trouble digesting Kurt's words. He stared at him, eyes widened and mouth gaping open like a fish. He didn't really know what to say, and unfortunately, his mouth moved faster than his brain. "What are you doing?" he blurted out, regretting the words almost the instant they fell from his lips.

Kurt frowned a little in confusion. "Chores. I'm putting away the dishes. What's it look like?"

Blaine couldn't answer that. He just stared as Kurt pulled apart the stack of long-tined forks and rearranged them, so that they fit together perfectly, every edge of every fork aligned with the fork above and below it. He was so mesmerized that he almost didn't register Kurt's voice when he spoke once more. "You really shouldn't stare, you know. It's painfully rude."

"Sorry," he muttered quickly, shaking his head to clear away his thoughts. "Do you want some help with that?"

Kurt suddenly stopped and looked up at him, and Blaine's heart thudded to a halt. Oh god, Kurt was going to attack him again, wasn't he? Oh god, what was he going to do? Should he call the police, or maybe an ambulance, or—

"Why?"

"Huh?"

Kurt looked genuinely confused. "Why on earth would you want to help me with this? It's one of the most mundane tasks out there. You can't tell me that you drove two hours to get here just to help me straighten up the house."

"Well, it's what you're doing, and I wanted to spend time with you, so I just thought that maybe—" Oh man, he was babbling. He couldn't find a way to tell Kurt that he was doing this wrong, that no one was quite that meticulous when they put away the damn dishes unless there was something going on with their brain chemistry. Thunder rumbled outside.

Kurt frowned and Blaine froze. "You think I can't do this, don't you?"

"That's not what I—"

"You think I'm still nuts, don't you? You're trying to sabotage me." His voice was growing louder and louder and Blaine backed away from the kitchen. Oh god, it was too early. He shouldn't have come here. He needed Burt to come back. He needed Kurt to calm down. He needed Jo back to tell him what to do. He needed everything to be okay again.

_You shouldn't have come._

Kurt stalked toward him, and Blaine couldn't take it anymore. He ran. He ran past Finn and the old leather couch. He ran past the photos lining the walls of Kurt smiling and posing for the camera. He burst through the door, thankful that Finn had neglected to lock the damn thing, and he bolted to his car.

Rain pelted the glass of the windshield as he sped away into the afternoon, leaving the Hummel family home in his rearview mirror.


	36. Chapter 36

Author's notes: Sorry this part's kind of odd and short. More soon.

* * *

Water whipped past the glass at an alarming rate; the wipers were hardly doing anything as they scraped and screamed against the windshield besides push the rain around. The world was a blur of muted colors as Blaine sped down the unfamiliar roads. He had no idea where he was going. He just needed to drive. He needed to escape, run far away until the ache in his chest that was his heart finally burst.

Something crawled down his cheek, tickling the skin uncomfortably, and he was surprised to find his fingers wet when he drew them back from his cheek. Huh. He hadn't realized he was crying until now. He couldn't see anymore. The world was a blur of amorphous shapes around him. A car sped past him, horn blaring, and he swerved back into his lane.

He should stop, pull over. He was going to crash into something or someone. He was going to kill himself at this rate.

_Would that really be so bad?_ The little voice in the back of his mind urged him on. _Just keep driving. It'll take away the pain, make everything stop._

He gently guided the car into a neighborhood and pulled up outside of one of the houses. The engine quieted and stilled as he turned the key in the ignition, and the lights of the dash went dark. It was cold. The heater must be acting up again. The soft tapping of the rain along the body of the car echoed in his ears. He wished it would drown out the white noise in his head.

What the hell was he going to do? This wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Kurt was supposed to be fine; he was supposed to be _normal_ now. This whole mess wasn't supposed to have happened in the first place.

He slumped forward over the steering wheel, his seatbelt digging painfully into the exposed skin of his neck where it peeked out from his jacket. He couldn't stop the tears now. His chest clenched with every sob that wrenched itself from his body. It hurt so bad; it hurt to think, to cry, to _breathe._ He just wanted this all to be over. He couldn't run far enough away from this mess.

So much for courage.

_Courage_.

He laughed at the thought.

Courage_, _what a crock of shit. He didn't need courage, he needed Kurt to go back to being that adorable little spy that he fell for over coffee and talk of bullies and glee club. He needed his sister here so she could wrap her arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay. He needed Burt Hummel to realize the his son was not okay, no matter what front he put on in front of the doctors. Blaine needed his mom to talk to him again and his dad to be _there_ for once when things got hard instead of finding new ways to stay later at work. He needed everyone to just leave him the hell alone for a little while.

He needed…he didn't even know what he needed anymore.

He laid his head on his folded arms and stared out the windshield. He could hardly see a thing, it was raining so hard. The water was quickly filling the depressed bit of asphalt between the road and the curb of the sidewalk, running like little rivers to the storm drains. There were still tears dripping from his chin, and Blaine wondered just how much water it would take to fill the car and sweep him away.

He didn't want to feel like this anymore. He wanted things to be okay again, but that wasn't going to happen, was it? Things were never going to go back to the way they were, and he hated Kurt for it.

It was all his fault. If he hadn't gone crazy, none of this would have happened. If it wasn't for Kurt, Blaine would have his life back. He'd be at home right now cooking dinner with his mom or maybe hanging out with Wes or David on their last summer before they abandoned him for college. He be anywhere but Lima fucking Ohio, sobbing in his car. If it wasn't for Kurt—

If it wasn't for Kurt, he wouldn't have a friend who shared his unnatural obsession with Vogue and cheesy, romantic musicals. If it wasn't for Kurt, he wouldn't know the joy of his smile or the light electricity that passed through his body when the boy touched his hand. He wouldn't know Kurt's terrible little chuckle or the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.

If it wasn't for Kurt, Blaine wouldn't have fallen in love.

He blinked away more tears, and tried to crush out the tight burning sensation that was closing off his throat. _Just breathe, Blaine. You can make it through this. You have no other choice. You can't keep falling to pieces like this._

He screwed his eyes shut and buried his forehead into the soft sleeves of his jacket. He wanted to go home.

He stayed that way, listening to the patter of the rain until a rattling sound edged its way into his consciousness. What the hell?

Blaine looked down to see his phone buzzing against the plastic sides of the cupholder. Someone was calling him. He swiped at his face with the back of his sleeve to clear his vision enough to read the caller ID. It was Finn, calling from the house phone. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the little red option labeled 'deny.'

Finn was one of the last people he wanted to talk to right now. The guy was sick as a dog, and he was still probably foaming at the mouth at Blaine's abrupt departure. And what if it wasn't Finn? Sure, he was the most likely person to call, but Burt should have gotten home by now. He'd be worse than Finn. And of course, there was always Kurt. He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't pick up the phone and scream obscenities at him, he was sure of it.

But he deserved it, didn't he? Such a freakin' coward. He connected the call.

"Hello?" God, his voice was all scratchy and rough from crying. He was a wreck.

"Blaine?" Finn. Blaine sighed and sank down into his seat, bracing himself for the verbal lashing that was sure to follow.

"Yeah, Finn. I'm here. What do you need?"

"Are you still in Lima?" That was odd. Finn didn't sound angry at all, just tired and stuffy and strangely kind of terrified.

"I think so. Why?"

"It's Kurt. I can't find him anywhere."


	37. Chapter 37

Author's notes: This is almost done. Only one more part (and possibly an epilogue if I can't get what I want into the next part) to go. The next chapter should be up sometime later this week, so there shouldn't be a long wait. I'd like to send out a huge thank you to everyone who's followed this, especially those who've taken the time to stop by and drop a review; you guys have been incredibly awesome.

* * *

Everything seemed to slow down for him as Finn's words sunk in. Kurt was missing. And he'd been acting weird again when Blaine had fled. But that meant—Blaine swallowed hard and tried to think of something else, anything else. He didn't need another reminder of his cowardice and the consequences thereof. He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself, regain his composure, but wasn't really working.

"What do you mean, you can't find him?" he breathed into the receiver.

"Just what I said. I—Burt came home and woke me up; I hadn't even realized that I'd fallen asleep. He came up to the couch all confused and asked me why the door was unlocked."

"And Kurt wasn't in the house," Blaine finished softly, the whole thing finally starting to sink in over the shock. The rain hadn't let up, and fat drops of water pelted the car like stones. Oh god, Kurt was out there in this weather. Alone. And possibly suffering another psychotic break.

This was all his fault.

He shouldn't have left the house. He shouldn't have gone and left Kurt alone with an over-tired, sick Finn. He shouldn't have run away. He should have stayed and tried to calm Kurt down, or maybe woken Finn up and tried to get him to do the job. Kurt could be lost or hurt or god knows what, and he was just sitting there in his car like the coward he was, letting the boy he loved slip through his fingers.

Blaine couldn't tell if he was breathing or not, but he managed to get enough air into his lungs to speak again. "Is Burt still home?"

"No. He just left to go look for Kurt, like, right before I called you." Finn paused for a moment, as though contemplating if he wanted to say anything more. His next words were so quiet, Blaine almost missed them. "I didn't tell him you came by."

Blaine didn't quite know what to say to that. It was his fault Kurt was missing, and yet Finn was covering for him. Burt would have freaked and gone on a rampage if he'd known that Blaine's visit had probably set this off. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Why—why would you do that?"

"Is Kurt with you?" Finn was avoiding the question.

"What?"

"Is Kurt with you?" Finn repeated, his voice breathy and exasperated.

"No," Blaine answered quickly. _But I wish he was_. A sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait, you don't think I took him, do you?"

"No, but I had to be sure. I trust you and all, but…I mean, Kurt's not here, and it's my fault he's gone. I should have been watching him or something, but I fell asleep and left you guys alone. God, I'm so sorry for that."

_No_, Blaine thought, _you shouldn't have been left alone with him in the first place, even if Burt needed to get that medication. This whole thing wasn't fair, and you shouldn't have been left to watch him. Not while you're sick. And I shouldn't have run out. No matter how freaked I'd been._ "Don't—don't put this all on yourself. No one knew Kurt would run off, right? And he couldn't have gone very far. Not in this weather." He was rambling. He only rambled when he was nervous. Oh god, what if Finn could tell he was nervous? And where in the hell was Kurt?

Blaine restarted his car, and tried to look out the windows through the cascades of water running past. He sucked in a deep breath, the image of Kurt, wet and alone and god knows where flashing through his head. "I'll find him, Finn," he promised. "Just, just give me a little time."

"All right. I'll call you if I hear anything from Burt." And the line went dead.

Blaine sat there in the cold, dark cab of his car, slumped over in his seat, his phone clasped loosely in his fist as it rested on the steering wheel. The white noise of the rain hammering the doors and roof filled his head. Kurt was missing. This was his fault. He didn't even know the first place to look.

Blaine leaned back and was about to drop his phone into the cupholder and start the car up when something stopped him. The phone fell from his slack fingers to clatter against the hard plastic of the dashboard. He drew his hand over to the cupholder and drew out the crumpled pink nametag from when Kurt had first been hospitalized. The messy folds of the paper were rough against his fingers, but the color was still as bright as ever. That stupid color that Kurt had liked so much when this whole mess had first started.

He felt his breath loosen itself from his chest, and a light chuckle escaped his lips. Soon, he was laughing hysterically, tears filling his stinging eyes as he doubled over in his seat, the bottom of the steering wheel jarring painfully against his knees as he tried to curl up in the small space. He didn't know what to do. This was all so ridiculous; this couldn't be real.

The pink caught his eye once more, and he tried to calm himself down. His breaths came in large gasping gulps and he brought the ruined nametag close to his face. His shaking fingers scrabbled at the edges of the tag and he carefully peeled the sticky bits away from each other. He could hear paper tearing, but the tag still looked to be whole. He unfolded the little slip of paper and pink filled his vision.

_Blarn Anderson_.

What he wouldn't give to be Blarn Anderson again. He could be that same dopey boy who fell in love with Kurt Hummel, the same boy who serenaded him and spent long afternoons with him doing nothing or studying in the common rooms of Dalton Academy. He screwed his eyes shut and let the tears fall. Kurt. He needed to get himself together, calm down.

Kurt was missing. He needed to find Kurt.

Blaine scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, and he started up his car. He needed to do this. Kurt needed him. He was out there, alone, and Blaine was just sitting here. He drew in a deep breath and tried to think. Where would Kurt go?

He watched as the windshield wipers danced back and forth across the windshield, shifting the water across the glass. Back and forth. And he knew where to go.

* * *

The road shouldn't have felt so familiar—he'd only driven it once or twice before—but his hands moved almost of their own accord. The GPS was still sitting in the glove box, and even with his terrible sense of direction, he somehow knew exactly where he was going.

McKinley. There were so many places around town that Kurt could go, but he'd told Blaine once that McKinley, as terrible as it was, sometimes felt the most like home. And it was the farthest of the few places he knew Burt would check. If Blaine went there first, and Kurt was there, maybe then he wouldn't have to admit his mistakes.

The school building came into view, and he pulled over into the student parking lot. Everything was dark and still under the rain; there didn't seem to be another living soul around. He stepped out of the car, and the rain hit him with full force, washing away the gel in his hair and plastering his clothes to his body. The water ran into his eyes and ears and he couldn't see Kurt anywhere.

"Kurt!" He called the boy's name over and over as he stumbled through the parking lot toward the fields surrounding the school. "Kurt, where are you?"

What time was it? How long had he spent moping around in his car? He hadn't even bothered to check his damn phone or the clock on the dash before he left, and both of those were back in the car. He was almost to the damn football field. This was stupid. McKinley wasn't all that far from Kurt's house, but he couldn't possibly have walked here in that short of time.

"Kurt!" The rain was still going strong, and his shoes were nearly soaked through. The bleachers drew ever closer and his steps slowed. He should get back to his car. Look for Kurt in a place where he could logically be, not at the stupid school. What the hell had he been thinking?

But as he neared the field, he saw a figure out on the grass. _Kurt_. His feet moved of their own accord and he was racing across the slick grass, stumbling and picking himself back up again, but the figure wasn't getting any closer. "Kurt," he whispered to no one at all, and the shadow disappeared. He was being stupid. He was seeing things.

He'd messed up again, and Kurt wasn't here.


	38. Chapter 38

Author's notes: Just the epilogue to go (yes, I'm doing one). Thanks to everyone who stopped by and read this, and to those who've left me reviews, I cannot thank you enough. Encouragement helps keep me going, and you guys have been nothing short of incredible. So thank you. Also, this is off-topic, but I feel the need to ask it since it skipped my mind when I updated last. Was anyone else weirded out by the fact Kurt sang "Blackbird" in the show, knowing the context it's used in this story? I'm good at predicting things in shows and movies and such, but that was kind of spooky for me. Especially since it was after Pavarotti died. I knew he was going to sing it, but not back when I wrote that chapter. Hmm...anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Blaine stood there in the middle of the field, trapped by the lure of a shadow and a desperate mind. He didn't know what to think anymore. The world swirled around him in a blurry haze of moisture. Everything seemed muted now, grey and lifeless, and more than anything he wished that Kurt was standing there beside him. He didn't need to be whole or sane or anything, just so long as he was _there_.

But Kurt wasn't there, and the realization of that fact hit him like a freight train.

_Oh god, Kurt isn't here._

Blaine's legs were shaking, and he almost fell to his knees. He was sure that if he took a step in any direction that he would surely fall over. _My jeans would be soaked from the wet grass, _he thought absently and a light chuckle escaped his lips. Why the hell was he worried about that? Something so trivial at a time like this. And it didn't matter anyway; his jeans were already soaked.

His whole body had gone completely numb; his fingers tingling with cold. The longer he stood there, the faster his mind raced, the faster his heart pounded in his chest. Kurt wasn't here. And Blaine couldn't think of any other place Kurt might go. Kurt was lost, crazy and completely alone out there in the rain. What the hell was he going to do?

He could—he could call Burt. He could see if the man had found Kurt. It would betray the fact that this whole mess was probably his fault in the first place, but Blaine was desperate at this point. He reached into his pocket, his eyes still focused on the space in front of him where the shadow had once stood. His fingers scraped through the wet fabric of his pockets, both his jeans and his jacket, to find nothing. He turned to look at the parking lot where the lone car sat on the periphery. His car. He'd left his phone in his car. He had to call Burt or Finn or _somebody_. Somebody had to know something. He needed to get back.

Blaine staggered back toward the parking lot, completely disheartened as reality began to set in and feeling returned to his body. His feet slipped on the slick blades of grass, but he moved ever onwards until his shoes scraped against asphalt. Rain had plastered his unruly curls to his forehead and his face suddenly felt far too warm, almost like the skin was burning. He was crying, he realized absently. The rain was washing away the hot trails of his tears but that familiar sting to his eyes and nose was unmistakable.

He fumbled with his keys and clambered into the cab of his car, water dripping off of his body onto the seats and scuffed car mat beneath his feet. He sat in there in silence for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel, just watching the rain as it slunk down the windshield. It wasn't coming down anywhere near as strong as it had been—the heavy sheets from before had calmed to just a steady fall of moisture. The car was dark—the clouds overhead were blocking out most of the light—but Blaine couldn't muster up the energy to start the car and illuminate the cab with the dim lights of the dash.

The large brick building of William McKinley High School loomed ahead of him, blurry through the watery glass, and Blaine wanted to scream. He hated this school and everything it stood for.

He hated it for ignoring the torment of its students. He hated it for scarring such a strong person like Kurt so badly that he had to flee. He hated it for having Kurt in the first place. He hated it for coming up against Dalton in sectionals for the glee competition this past year.

He hated that he couldn't get rid of the damn place no matter how hard he tried to purge it from his life.

It wasn't fair. He'd been happy. He'd finally been _happy _before McKinley and its students had wormed their way into his life, and right now there was nothing he wanted to do more than set the place on fire. Even if it had given him Kurt. Public schools had ruined his life and then gone around and presented him with one of the most wonderful things he could ever imagine in Kurt, only to take that away from him too. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fucking fair.

His face still burned, but he couldn't feel any tears. Maybe he'd run dry. After everything that had happened he wouldn't be surprised. He laid his head back against the seat and tried to gather his thoughts together.

So, Kurt wasn't here. Blaine really didn't know Lima all that well, even if Kurt lived here and he almost knew the way to a few of the residences for the New Directions kids. He didn't know where else Kurt could be. He'd never talked about any coffee shops or restaurants he'd liked to visit except, no parks or special places from his childhood that he'd find refuge in. There was nothing.

Nothing except McKinley. And Kurt wasn't there.

His eyes trailed over to the dash, where he'd dropped his phone. It had slid down the slanted surface to wedge itself under the windshield. Blaine stretched himself forward and snagged the device with the tips of his fingers. He should call Finn. Or Burt. Let them know that he'd let them down, let them know he'd failed. But his fingers didn't move.

Jo's face swam in his memory and some of her last words to him before she left played over and over in his ear.

_Courage, Blaine. You've just gotta have a little courage_.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't give up.

_Courage._

He dropped his phone back into the cupholder with the little pink nametag and started up the car. He couldn't run away again. Kurt was out there somewhere, and Blaine needed to find him.

* * *

The streets were nearly deserted as he drove; no one wanted to be out in this weather. The cars that passed by sent up hug sprays of water across the road, across the sidewalks. Blaine had no idea where he was going; the streets of Lima might as well have been the streets of Beijing. He simply drove, searching sidewalks and side streets for a lone figure in the rain.

His phone was silent and dark, so Burt hadn't found Kurt either, and he hadn't come home. Finn would call. Blaine had complete faith in that.

After navigating his way through the latest neighborhood, Blaine felt hopelessness flare up again in his belly. This was pointless. He wasn't getting anywhere, and Kurt was still nowhere to be found. He'd stopped not too long ago to text the few numbers from New Directions that he had in his phone: Mercedes, Rachel, some kid named Artie, to see if Kurt had wandered over to their houses. He needed to know if they'd heard anything from him, though he kept the reason for looking for Kurt to himself. There had been nothing. Not a one of them had seen him today.

The light in front of him turned green and he started forward again. He had no idea where he was or where he was going; maybe he'd have a revelation sometime along the way to wherever the hell it was he was headed.

When the streets started looking familiar again, he realized that he was heading back to the damn school. It was as good a place as any. He looked at the clock on the dashboard and his heart sank. Too long. Kurt had been missing for too long. He was going to have to give up the search. Finn needed to know. Burt deserved to know. He hadn't found Kurt.

He pulled into McKinley's parking lot, and his heart gave a start at the figure standing there.

No. No, it couldn't be—he was seeing things again.

But that was the exact same shade of blue that Kurt's shirt had been.

He barely thought to put the car into park before he stepped out onto the asphalt once more; the keys were still in the ignition, the front door hanging wide open, and the headlights cutting through the gloom like great yellow beacons. Blaine couldn't get his feet to move fast enough. The phantom that may or may not have been Kurt hadn't moved, but it hadn't disappeared like last time either.

"Kurt!" he cried out, hoping for some sort of reaction, but there was none.

His breath was coming too fast, too heavy, and his feet kept stumbling over one another. It was Kurt. It had to be. The hair he took so much pride in was dark with water and stuck to his forehead, the fabric of his beautiful blue shirt hugging the planes of his chest. He was staring out into the rain, toward the direction of the school, but his eyes were distant, like he wasn't really seeing anything.

"Kurt?"

Kurt turned toward him, and Blaine couldn't see anything but the blue of Kurt's eyes. His skin was so much paler than it should have been, and Blaine longed to reach out and touch him. The skin of his ears was raw and bleeding.

"Blaine?" His voice was soft and sounded so very, very lost; it was almost inaudible under the white noise of the still falling rain, but it was like the sweetest music Blaine had ever heard. "Oh god, is that you?"

Blaine swallowed and searched Kurt's face. He looked so vulnerable in that moment that Blaine wanted to cry. "Yeah, Kurt. It's me."

His arms were suddenly full of Kurt; he could feel the other boy trembling against his chest. He was warm and real and _Kurt_ and Blaine was crying again. He had to be.

"I thought…" Kurt paused, his voice choked with emotion. He clung to Blaine as though he hadn't seen the boy in years, his arms wrapped around his torso like a lover greeting a soldier come home from war. Blaine found that he couldn't move. This didn't seem real. "I thought I'd lost you," Kurt whispered into his jacket.

"What do you mean?"

Kurt looked up at him, and his eyes were so full of fear that Blaine felt his heart breaking. "They said they had you. They weren't going to give you back, and I…I couldn't find you. They said you had to disappear because you were trying to sabotage me. But they lie; they always lie, and I had to find you, Blaine. I had to find you. I couldn't let them take you." Kurt's face crumbled and Blaine wanted nothing more than to sweep Kurt into his arms and kiss him and love him until all of the shadows fled from his mind. But Kurt wasn't his, no matter how much he wanted it. That didn't mean he couldn't be there for him.

His hands found the gentle curve of Kurt's cheeks, and he tilted the boy's face upward so he could look into his eyes. The skin under his palms was cold and wet with the rain, but it was _real,_ and that was what really mattered.

_Courage, Blaine. You've just gotta have a little courage._

Kurt's eyes were bottomless, and Blaine felt as though he could drown in them if the rain didn't get to him first. He moved his arms down to wrap around Kurt's hunched shoulders, and he laid his head on Kurt's rain-slicked hair. The vanilla scent of his shampoo had long washed away, and all that was left was the rain and something distinctly Kurt. It felt like coming home.

"It's okay, Kurt," he murmured softly, pulling the boy even closer. "I'm right here. Everything's going to be okay."


	39. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Blaine sank into the hard cushion of the chair, his legs stretched out before him. These stiff, lumpy chairs were becoming a bit too familiar for comfort, but he tried his best to relax for the wait anyway. He didn't really have much of a choice. It wasn't often that he beat Burt here, but today was an exception. The roads had been clear, and Blaine had been restless to get down to Lima.

But he didn't want to just waltz into the back. As a minor, he still needed an adult with him, even with the written permission of his parents, and trailing along beside Burt was a lot less tense than following one of the nurses.

He shuffled his toes around inside his tennis shoes, watching the loose ends of the laces as they swung about in the air with his every movement. He wouldn't have them for very much longer if his guess was accurate.

He shifted his gaze upward to look out at the sky peeking in through the windows, praying that the heavy clouds from earlier in the morning had cleared away. No such luck. It was still overcast. He slunk down a little further, his chin pressed uncomfortably close to his chest. At least the rain that had been falling since before he'd woken up had stopped. That had sucked to drive in. With any luck, the storm front would be moving out soon, and clear skies would return. Not that he'd get to enjoy them all that much, with Kurt being so sick and all, but still, the thought cheered him a tiny bit.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the screen to bring it to life. He needed to know the time but really didn't feel like figuring out the hours and minutes on the little clock hanging above the nurse's station. Only a few minutes had passed. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Still too early, but Burt would be there soon. He tapped the toes of his shoes together and closed his eyes.

It had been some time since Kurt had once again been admitted for treatment. He was being treated by a new doctor, who'd wanted to run Kurt through some extensive tests to see if his medication was working the way it should. Burt had been updated. Blaine hadn't.

And he found that he wasn't really all that upset about it.

Whatever the heck they were doing now seemed to be working, and that was enough. Kurt was far more subdued, a little quieter and less expressive, but he talked about the things he normally would have had they been hanging out on the floor of Blaine's room or chatting somewhere in the halls of Dalton. Kurt seemed to be open with everyone about how he was doing and was steadily getting better. Admittedly, the recovery was pretty slow, and it wasn't much, but it was enough. Blaine would take what he could get.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Burt Hummel grinning down at him.

"You asleep there, kid?"

"Not quite." Blaine straightened and stretched the bunched muscles in his back.

"Well, shall we?"

"I'm ready when you are."

They walked up to the front and filled out their names on the colorful little nametags they'd been given, pasting them securely to their chests. The nurses knew who they were by this point. Blaine pulled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it a bit more firmly over his jeans, but it didn't make the billowing fabric fit any better. It was still way too big for him. He'd need to have it altered later to fit his frame; maybe he could get Mercedes to help. She was better at this sort of thing than him. And he couldn't bear to give up the stupid thing.

He followed Burt into the back where they toed off their shoes and emptied their pockets, handing everything to the orderlies. The movements were so familiar now that Blaine barely registered them. They walked into the large open room where the patients were allowed to congregate, and Blaine smiled when he spotted Kurt. He was seated in the large, extended windowsill at the far side of the room, a blanket spread over his bent knees. He was reading a novel Burt had brought him the last time they'd visited, and he looked to be about halfway through it. Blaine's smile widened. They'd have to bring him a new one soon.

"Hey, Kurt."

He lifted his head to look at them, folding his book closed, and a gentle smile graced his lips. "Hey."

Burt walked up to his son and smoothed a hand over his hair. Kurt didn't seem to mind that so much anymore. Just something else to get used to. "How are you doing today, kiddo?"

"All right. I'm ready to start eating real food again."

Burt chuckled. "I hear you. If the food in here is as bad as it is in the cafeteria, then we need to break you out as fast as possible."

"Please do." He turned to Blaine, an eyebrow creeping up toward his hairline. "And what, pray tell, are you wearing?"

He gripped the hem of his overlarge shirt. "What, this?"

"Yes, that. It looked like you're wearing a tent."

Blaine sat down on the little empty space beside Kurt's feet on the windowsill. "True, but Jo still thinks I'm an obese bum."

Kurt's face fell a bit and he looked down at the book in his lap. "I'm still sorry about that, you know. I didn't mean to ruin her visit."

Blaine patted Kurt's knee, trying to cheer Kurt up a bit. "Don't worry about it, Kurt. I already told you that you didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't exactly something you could control. And hey, she still wants to meet you."

Kurt winced. "You sure about that?"

"Of course. How could she not, when I can't help but extol your many virtues every time she calls?"

Kurt snorted, but his grin belied the humor creeping back into his mood. "Many virtues, huh?"

"You know it."

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Kurt leaned forward to hug his knees to his chest, his eyes fixed on the boy in front of him. "I was right, you know."

"Mmm? About what?"

"Pink." He reached forward and traced the design on the front of Blaine's shirt, the bright fuchsia of his nametag. His smile was bright as his eyes trailed up to Blaine's face. Blaine felt his heart skip a beat as he lost himself in Kurt's blue gaze. "It really is a good color on you."

* * *

Burt and Blaine stayed with Kurt for a while longer, Burt promising to return later in the day with Finn and, if he could clear it with the nurses, something more edible than Kurt's current choice of cuisine.

A cool rush of air hit Blaine's face as he stepped out into the misty afternoon. It wasn't nearly as cold as it had been when he first arrived here, but he still shrugged his jacket a little closer to his body to ward off the chill. Burt stepped up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He'd been incredibly kind to Blaine, letting him spend the night periodically and coming with him to visit Kurt. Blaine didn't know how he was ever going to repay the man for all that he'd done.

"Do you mind if I treat you to lunch? We could bring something home to Finn."

He shook his head. "Not at all. That's perfectly fine with me."

"Do you mind pizza?"

"No. I'm up for most anything," he said with a grin, but his face fell as soon as he saw Burt's grim expression. "Burt? Is everything okay?"

"I've just…" he swallowed and walked over to one of the benches near the handicapped parking, sitting down heavily on the hard wooden surface. "I need to tell you something."

Blaine was starting to get worried, and he set himself down beside the older man. Though he remained silent, a thousand questions were written all over his face.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, kid, and with school coming up so soon, I think you need to know this."

"So you're sending Kurt back to Dalton?"

"For the time-being, yeah. Carole and I have already paid for the new semester, and I don't know how well Kurt would handle the stress at McKinley. He's—I still don't think he's safe there. Not with that Karofsky kid hanging around."

Blaine nodded. Only he and Kurt knew the real reason behind Karofsky's harassment of Kurt, and the sexual overtones of the bullying made Blaine all the more wary of sending Kurt back to the school. He'd tell Burt about it if things got to be too much for Kurt at Dalton. The man needed to know about things like that if Kurt needed to switch schools again.

"But I can't be there at Dalton, and you've been here throughout this whole mess. I just…you're such a good kid, Blaine." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I need someone to look out for him when I can't be there."

Blaine didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't feel that he was the right person to trust with this, whatever it might be, but there really wasn't anyone else, was there? Not unless Burt and Carole suddenly decided to ship Finn off to Westerville too. "Why are you telling me this? I don't really mind—I'm more than willing to look out for Kurt when we're at school—but I don't understand why you're telling me this."

"Because you need to know what's really going on with Kurt."

"What do you mean?"

"He was misdiagnosed. Earlier. That's one of the reasons why he relapsed this last time. Dr. Thompson had his suspicions because some of Kurt's symptoms didn't fit well with bipolar, and since Kurt's responding to the new medication, everything seems proving him right."

"Burt, sir, what's going on?"

"We're not exactly sure where it came from, but the doctors are pretty sure they've got it right this time."

"Burt, what's wrong with Kurt?"

Burt turned his head and locked his grey eyes with Blaine's hazel. "Schizophrenia, Blaine. Kurt has schizophrenia."

_Schizophrenia_. Blaine's mind went blank for a moment before a sudden rush of thoughts bombarded his brain.

Schizophrenia. That was that thing where people had different personalities, right? Where they saw things and went absolutely nuts for no reason? He felt something catch in his throat.

"Blaine?"

He lowered his head and stared at the sidewalk. So. Schizophrenia. He sucked in a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut, his mind racing. What did it really matter, in the end? He'd already gone this far; what did it matter that they actually had a name for what was wrong with Kurt? It was all the same in the end. He sighed. "That's…that's pretty heavy."

"I know." Burt sounded so defeated. This was a mistake. He'd already loaded this boy with too much as it was, even if Kurt needed a friend. "I'm so sorry to ask this of you. I know Kurt's only your friend, but he really seems to trust you. I…damn it, I shouldn't have asked you to do this. We can find something else. I'm sorry, Blaine. This isn't fair to you."

Blaine straightened and lightly slapped his knees. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay."

"What?"

"I can do that. I can keep an eye on him." He turned to Burt and gave him a light smile. "I know what's going on, right? Like, everything. And I've already been through this much, and I'm still here. Besides," he grinned a little wider, "I'm sure that I could tell you more than the school if something's wrong."

Blaine suddenly found himself crushed against the hard plane of Burt's chest, warm, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. The man's voice was choked with emotion and so quiet that Blaine almost couldn't hear him, but it made him feel warmer than he had in months. "You're a good kid, Blaine. You're a good kid."

* * *

Author's notes: Oh my gosh, it's finally done. Again, thank you to all of you who read this, followed this, and especially to those of you who left me reviews. You guys are so wonderful that I hardly know what to do with myself. And I'd also like to let you all know that I am planning a sequel for this (I already have the first scene partly written, so I'm not just jerking you around). I hope you enjoyed this if you made it to the end, and, should you decide to check out any of my other stories, I hope you enjoy those too. Stay awesome, you guys.

_Edit: Because it was brought up and I completely forgot about it, please do not think that schizophrenia constitutes having multiple personalities. This is a completely false and rather archaic idea about the disease. When Blaine is musing about Kurt's diagnosis, those are his personal feelings and they are not accurate in any way. I can recommend several websites that help detail the symptoms of schizophrenia and, should you like, I can also discuss the differences between it and Disassociative Identity Disorder (DID), formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), which in itself is an inaccurate description as well. Feel free to PM me. :)_


End file.
